AAT, not at.

A tortured life in all of its mediocrity. 

Stop and shake, change, look back and laugh. Shaking hands and limbs.

Looking nice. Nice and shallow.

Feeling dirt under the hands that hold bars. Cordially spewing, asking for help and all that rubbish. Put yourself out there. Pregnancy will stand on your belly and laugh and I will mourn skin that was. Ogle, angle and disposed angrily. Flat shouts of anger, locate loathsome.

Fire rearing listerene. Promise is a fireman kissing a smoke right in a forgotten and ashen forest.

No pixie rings here. Burnt fungus and carcas smoulder. Older and older. 94 and no fucks. If only I could go back and fuel. Furl, that which was unfurled. All those girls,

Tarnishing my resentment and happiness. Freedom is bliss when hypocrisy is veiled. Until i die. Grim as reapers out-pointed finger. Tutor me this. Freedom in movement. Wishing and wailing and angry and free. Rising and falling. Dated, sated and burned. Flesh peeling, rotting, prolonged prowling. Jaw exposed, teeth clattering, snatch, chatter and hanker jangle are limbs.

Elbows and knees. Sharp brittle, black burnt char.

I am

Cancer. I am stars. 

I am

Nothing you are now, but a destined hypocrite

For all.

All time, all people all me. Back breaking. Bliss of sex and suppression. Girls girl girls.

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