oh mygod,ohmy god
stop ******* talking about your martyr complex
some of us arent enjoying this
(THE STATE OF BEING INFERIOR)
(it's okay, dont worry about that weird taste in your mouth
it goes away after a few hours)

moderate to severe autocannibalistic tendencies
and an aegyptosaurus to boot

hello, executioner
hello starlight, hello pillager
make me a village
give me pitchforks give me haybales i will give you a show
brand new, glitter stuck shiny on the sign out front crying havoc
crying
"hello executioner lead me to the
slaughter"
you menace
isnt this a sight?
twenty-five love letters to a guillotine and a girl you killed
seven hundred years ago
advertising strategy number thirty-four: **** your neighbor
**** everyone you know and then **** yourself
are you jealous? are your eyes open?
i can hear your nose bleeding from here
(twenty-five love letters addressed to a dead person
oh god oh god,
can your hear the water rush)
the disposal is running in the sink
"what are you a robot"
stop talking about anarchy this isnt a drug bust
two white balloons and blood on the ceiling
haven't you ever seen a dead body before?

Blissfully, I recount,
his eyes as grey as the sea,
blissfully, he spoke,
vibrations shoving insects aside
to push his words to me,
as a storm does, as a storm does

Rain, beating on his window,
shocked him awake and in turn, horrified me,
gathering thunder to himself as if
he were Zeus's favorite, his shivers shaking the house,
as a storm does, as a storm does

and one by one, we traveled alone,
with winds adorning our heads,
and bit, by bit, he gave himself,
to me, as though
I could save him
as a storm does, to a port,
as a storm does.