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kdmillsPoems
"I ate civilization. It poisoned me; I was defiled. And then I ate my own wickedness." - Aldous Huxley i let my head hit the brachiaria. cyan sky rolled past, and it seemed to me as if my past itself was dragged out of my body, excorcised and pulled up and traveled with the sky's current the sky is moving, impossible and slow. the clouds jog with a rush. sometimes i think i have never felt at all with my year ****** up, on their way to Mongolia or Philadelphia, I tried to desperately recall sullied at the thought i couldnt. I thought about how i always embarrassed you in public how i'd turned into an embarrassment at this point in time my pure innocence that flowed in the past gently uncomfortably shifting and wondering how certain things felt i don't know manhood devoured me like an apple. in the garden i walked tried to spot all the perennials and i did and i thanked mankind for taking up the habit of finding wild plants bringing them into our lives i see a sign, the museum is holding an exhibit on british pastorals and hellscapes i tell her we should go. she agrees walks across the street to buy a wire. my blood ran down my body onto the linen Egyptian cotton like the princesses who married at 14, at 13 i laughed when they asked me to go the square and at 15 i felt it my responsibility. the fetid collapse of my sincerity and my serenity flowed through my being patrolled round my purity like a culpable sentry i closed my eyes and i felt the sheets heavy with plasma i blinked and everything turned to burgundy the subway grates licked at my ankles the poplar and elms in firestone laughed at me, who had so eagerly held on to a fray consumed by mankind gutted with certain toxicant.
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Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
babysbreath
"I ate civilization. It poisoned me; I was defiled. And then I ate my own wickedness." - Aldous Huxley i let my head hit the brachiaria. cyan sky rolled past, and it seemed to me as if my past itself was dragged out of my body, excorcised and pulled up and traveled with the sky's current the sky is moving, impossible and slow. the clouds jog with a rush. sometimes i think i have never felt at all with my year ****** up, on their way to Mongolia or Philadelphia, I tried to desperately recall sullied at the thought i couldnt. I thought about how i always embarrassed you in public how i'd turned into an embarrassment at this point in time my pure innocence that flowed in the past gently uncomfortably shifting and wondering how certain things felt i don't know manhood devoured me like an apple. in the garden i walked tried to spot all the perennials and i did and i thanked mankind for taking up the habit of finding wild plants bringing them into our lives i see a sign, the museum is holding an exhibit on british pastorals and hellscapes i tell her we should go. she agrees walks across the street to buy a wire. my blood ran down my body onto the linen Egyptian cotton like the princesses who married at 14, at 13 i laughed when they asked me to go the square and at 15 i felt it my responsibility. the fetid collapse of my sincerity and my serenity flowed through my being patrolled round my purity like a culpable sentry i closed my eyes and i felt the sheets heavy with plasma i blinked and everything turned to burgundy the subway grates licked at my ankles the poplar and elms in firestone laughed at me, who had so eagerly held on to a fray consumed by mankind gutted with certain toxicant.
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kdmills
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
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