fate salad, no cheese

I can’t breathe…. the weight is too great and my fate waits plated… I need only choose it as it sits so near I can touch it crutched fuckers munch my lunch my growing hunch bunches and I get a headache – the macabre steps out rotten curtains hang limp around eyes coated with think and smeared mascara, earlobes gauged and a professional gapper, lifts its 6 fingered hand reaching for the peaches – cheap fruit on the veranda molds plastic bowls hold cracked eggs and her legs stretch to the moon swooning, I come unglued and swallowing ludes like a Bill Cosby date I wait again for my fate to begin – peeling paint and fainting actresses plaster masked maniacs along muddy hallways shinning pennies give the illusion of care but rarely is flare so debonair the holey underwear share in my despair we were unprepared –

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Written by

s-lyman-temple

American

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