I want nothing more than for someone to see through me. rip out these glass eyes and stick your hands in my sockets, dig around and play with my veins. cut out my faulty optic nerves and put them in your pocket. a sorry excuse of an apology. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you the truth, the words leak from my lips to try and clean up the oil spillage ( Read more... )

the rattling of machines that sound too much like the the ground unearthing beneath your feet and the mockery of what you sick fucks call a “heartbeat” fill the room with another straight line, rounded edge, spike, flatline, spike. icy blues that scream “get me out of here” in overwhelming belligerence, balled up fists that bare no fruit, repulsed ( Read more... )