Ideas and nonsense form some kind of equation that I just don't seem to get.... or maybe I do but concepts only twirl around like a classical ballet. A ballet of mould choreographed inside my tinned peach of a brain.

Friday, October 28, 2011

Friday 28, October 2011



inate terrors curdle and crystallize
like a flimsy organ wincing through wind
wheezing on lumpy air, spewing out chunks
torturous missile engraving on my stomach
acid curls outwards like a ribbon and congealed in bows
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