in the middle of life, things sink like a dip in anything. like a dip in the pool. a dip- a ridge cut out in sand. hairy toes begin to leave impressions onto memory-

chaw.

and these descriptions form more descriptions- and illusions and mixed reality. and then this perpetual stink hovers over my nose.

(i do)

shaky shaky baby.

go on and seduce me because the fruit is ripe and the conversation is filling.

i'm learning a lot about whatever and there is so much appeal to the thought of just ramming my head through that wall staring at me with the shelves of christianity and fantasy and weight loss. who needs to read when there are words in your ears and in your mouth and on your fingertips?

it was a nice gesture, sure can take time- can't it? every entrance sounds the same. every ring makes me stir, and now the guitar in my room becomes a tool for survival, my voice acting as a distraction. there is no point in fear or self-absorbtion anymore, so i can feel free to stretch out my limbs to the likes of you because it makes me quiver- i'm delighted. the chill in the room is fresh on my hands and i'm still alone in this tight grip of a house. if i wake up and i'm covered in sweat, water becomes flesh and i'm satisfied. fuck chance. forget leaving it to the stars. giant balls of fiery gas. motion me to you to me to you to me to you to me to you- it's a beautiful thing. i've got my helmet on and now carry a small wooden sling shot. you've got a gun and a saddle like a cowboy.