Solemn.solemn. almost intent on punishing myself for failings not yet contrived.I could try n choke the horror in elegant blunt poetry, 'a story or so', as it were from the opposite end.but i cant. one may speculate on the particulars of such an end and many would have their last breath fuck the final charity out v life, in denial that non-entity will bludgeon complacent pride so smugly spread between sheets,behind bullits, in board room barbarism - 'western front'.projected desires of ignorant avarice. Bliss-
another successful attempt to drug myself. Why? of course the reason being that i truly do not know myself. perhaps to extricate 'me' from my disease that cannot be spread but rots in chest like Lucretia's face in the mirror. so often crying poisonSwelling bloodied eyes and moulding skin to the colours of Bacon's backgrounds.i might soon be within white walls too as ill health hounds.That metaphoric cancer in my chest,well, the ironys courting a wry smile.
Anyone for a heart transplant? I hear the going rate's high I could make a killing!
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