(no subject)
Though I've been attempting to pick up my slack, the lack remains, stains my days. The cage I am building around this heart will be impenetrable. In general, my specifics are dickless, and these chicklets only occupy the tongue til the taste is done. Dead and gone, yet still I carry on, swallowing my swan song. Tell myself it won't be long but this is all so wrong. The Holy Daze Phase lends easily to the graze, yet skies are grey and that which jades stakes a claim in my heart, and potentially my art as well. Some might claim this is hell, but I won't dwell on those pains, setting my aims on building a heaven down the street from seven eleven. Attempting to keep myself leaven at best, longing for a bed built for more than rest. In my pockets the jingle jangle of keys, while my eye sockets mingle with the mangled and displeased, stomach ill at ease. Lady Luck is such a tease.