free association 9/23
Step one. step 5. Sip. Burn. Coffee till 5. Cry, gasp, sniff, score. Those are my 1's, 2's, 3's, and 4's, and my throat is sore. Sector off sanctions of my satin tractor of hell-bent relations of Platonic roots and stems I cry for in apocalyptic nightmares rave and crave soft tension and hands, palms, fingertips but where's the present convenient, right-fucking-now applicable emotions not your blue chiffon 80's outlet discovery taking me back to the sooped up basement sanctity of the surreal REM controlled world leave me with a pocket knife watching seizures being asked to execute the deed of my narcissistic unit and his vicotin pleas and I'm on my knees, no wait face down sobbing like an infant slammed right then left, here's the dance->step 1, step 3, we did that dance->scratch->i did that dance in my gut-wrenching isolated apathy and I thought we'd have tea and discuss our democracy put cry, gasp, sniff, score->I'm alone and chained to these habitual 1, 2, 3, and four...