Mar 27, 2007 23:16
The state of now's existence is difficult to describe. Happiness dogs at my dick, promising pleasure,
yet my preoccupation with destiny's denial precludes any priapism and I am left limp, eyes wide and
watery. All the avians I admire aloft overhead, appearing as specks from my earthly affair, afar.
A day again angry at my world-self. So, damn, Sudan? My own form, forgotten. Icelandic inclination.
It gives me pause, the way that everything is.
An expected emphasis gone missing. Back when I still thought She existed, my secret self remained
richer than the ragdoll that reality realized. This lump of laziness, this lamentably lacklustre
lout that lends itself into my eye, that bends and wends itself into my eye, is not the self of my.
Incredibly indelible, inedible and unsellable. My meager meat, my narrow marrow. No nutrition in this
dictitious conviction, just sun-licked skin friction heat, running feet, sliding sweet and sweaty
deep.