my thoughts are a poison arsenic or cyanide it's all the same to me but they elaborate their trade of **** and suffocate or twist my will or twist their knife into my skull and laugh and wait and watch and see that poison trickles out of me - instead of blood as well it should thick toxin lies upon the ground and mutters at the shameful sound of voices in my mind becoming words that shriek and spurn and spout the horrors of my head in croaking voice that's straining at the knees i'm crying - help me help me please
Hey there, woah there well I'd just like to take this fine opportunity to tell you that I assure you, my good sir, that I don't give one-eighth of a one-hundredth of a flying ****.
Paper faces on display behind their crumbling, flaking paper masks. Bodies carved from fragile glass about to shatter as they dip and dance. Longing for a false romance to warm and burn their paper hearts. Kisses underneath the stars; the fraying smoke from their cigars.