Cut my heels
make me click bone.
Make me decide where I'll root the ground with my red.
Sulphur incarnate
I am tired of my Sodom.
I'd prefer the wax to the breath.
Today-existence is a burden
because tomorrow it will be me
who limps with nothing to lean back on,
because the earth on my heels
wasn't mine.

 A state of novacaine cheeks and wind up music boxes.
I'd like it back, please. If you just don't mind.
I'd like the grey faced moon. 
I'd like the frosty blue and aqua.
The white bed sheets and the darkwood bed.
The cold floor and ornamented carpet.
The smell of fresh and old.
A room I've never been in.
A state of everything. Nothingness.
Of black and of ( Read more... )