**** me sidewase-- sidewise apparently,
i can't get a word in between these red dots and
Red snakes biting at my letters's ankles
At least when I'm pen ning I have the option to ignore that im an *******

You **** gobbling weak kneed slack jawed fool

Alright Alright let's take it easy I'm simply trying to help
No one would ever doubt your genius
But your spelling can certainly take a little
Critazisms?
Is that how you
Spelt?

Dont patronize me **** it

The back of my eyes feel wet,
And the hot-cocoa after sledding,
Warmth in my chest wont go away.
My head feels magnetized to my stomach,
With my nose pulling my head downward.

My hair irritates my skull,
As the clammy underside of my skin,
Grips who I am,
My very essence,
In a death vice

My hand writes when it is sleepy,
Though my pin prickled pal pays me no tithe,
The static sound feel of my arm,
Removes itself from me,
Granting formerly unprecedented agency,
Between my brain and my limb,
With me left the unhappy spectator

Your stream of thought pleases naught,
And swirls your mouth in toilet style,
It spouts your bile through your smile,
Where we all wish it would not

Meticulously making milestones,
Don’t chase me,
Dripping dropping side roads of thoughts,
My train is racing,
Until it's up ended by life,
Hum’or’catastrophe
The beat and time I’ve worked for entirely,
Dies

Well I wrote to thank you,
And the pen times a thousand,
For although gilded words,
Glide on thoughts,
Of yours,
Of mine,
Of stars,
Of trees,
It would not be in physical,
Without the read’or’write’or’thee,
And sure, we moments are vein,
And admire ourselves each other without,
You,
Are certainly good for the ego too.

Writing is very cathartic for me,
In the same way,
Which,
Bleeding is cathartic for plague treatment.
After drenching a page,
I sit,
Corpse-still, Catholic cathedral still,
Feel!
Echoing off my abandoned adorned walls.