The worlds slow again, just us here now. Inside my thoughts, a hallway, a skinny boy wearing a black mask. The fates. Their crooked fingers slick from the grease of the eye that they pass around, they tie me up, they hurt me and they do things to me, to my body, sick things that make my stomach sour, that stir the acids and make me foamy when i fall asleep with a bottle under my chin and all of you just go away. There is no reward, no light for me at the end of the tunnel, and anyway id just donate it if I found it. When youre called to shout it from the rooftops til the snipers bullets burrows warm in your brain sometimes all you want is just to sleep warm in a hole with another animal and relish your odds of waking up alive.
Posted on: Tue, 29 Oct 2013 08:15:56 +0000
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