(no subject)
Everything that happens on this planet seems to be only for breaking human hearts.
In the shower, attached to plastic screen, an aborted chrysalis, the kind that moths spin. I find them everywhere, and maybe it's just here in this city, or this apartment, but the filth follows me everywhere. The slothful disregard for object and appearance. And the starving. The parasite. I am my mother's son.
The initiation never ends. Mine, perhaps, never began.
In the shower, attached to plastic screen, an aborted chrysalis, the kind that moths spin. I find them everywhere, and maybe it's just here in this city, or this apartment, but the filth follows me everywhere. The slothful disregard for object and appearance. And the starving. The parasite. I am my mother's son.
The initiation never ends. Mine, perhaps, never began.