i think of the little chart in that body genre article temporality of fantasy: too late / too early / on time! we are just passing by each other whenever we have our moments im bottling up surrender yourself turn up the volume as high as you possibly can god it'll save your life it always sounds quieter every time you have to do this even though you force that fucking dial as far to the right as you can thHTHHEE END IS NEAR she's too sensitive to sound she's too sensitive to light tinnitus and photosensitivity i was blessed with perfect teeth but my skin molts like a bird live in this skin live in this fucking skin that scratches off like a lotto ticket you're not gonna win im bottling up surrend yourself for gods sake you're fucking dying rain holy shit you've been dying this whole fucking time you're dying and youre alone and you're not laying next to a girl who knows exactly how you feels you're fucking alone forever stop trying to expose your hea...
scream out to the valley that things are fucked and unfair poking burn spots with the fag against my ingrown hairs in-between the sealed up cuts on my arms that start to glow red as my body starts to rise in temperature strike like matches you can wake up early in the morning when you have a good reason to need to the landscape scales steeply, with it's contours holding it's insides like an empty bowl the hill is too sloped to jump off of reminds me of back home take too many parts apart, have to reattach a few come back home to the last night I spend with you your things are being put in a box and your things will be moving in soon too many things being taken out too much things moved to one room the death stairs eyes it's next victim the flowers coming into bloom about twenty or so days until I see you days getting longer, things not getting any worse things not getting any better. things not getting less hurt thistles caressing my legs, sun missing my eyes god knows god...
not knowing your place in the world is dangerous I've been living on the ground for years now i need to become how i was before the natural colors of my roots grow in again tangled out grasping for air I'm living that mundane living dream I play pathfinder every monday with my friends and my friends love me and my colleagues think I have potential I'm not doing much these days but reading through old essay papers from the lauded 20th century film and music artists and I got the feeling that this modest life is sweet she was loved by her friends and family but I've got that sick fetish for necrophilia cast upon myself I want people to read off all the drugs listed in my autopsy I want people to desecrate my grave I want people to deep fake my likeness oh my, that boy sacrificed so much sleepless nights look at the clusters of eczema'd skin dried up along his arm the calloused hands, my god, what a texture, what a shape the worst part is that I yearn for the light t...
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