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Jul 2017
first memories? my great-grandfather wanted me to play the piano... my grandfather? he expected me to become a hyena of the graveyard; concerning the the former? my piano became a keyboard, or the latter, i was called jesus by a death death girl i tried to put headphones, i was call the tenth of memory of humanity's worth memory... i was called the hunchback angel, i was called the death of death.... i have many names... i crave these associations, once walking in the street i was called death, might i breathe as silently as a shadow in the night?

p'tah p'tah p'tah,
     p'tah p'tah p'tah...
i guess that translates
at p'ah-tay-tinker-toe:
p'tah p'tah p'tah,
p'tah p'tah p'tah, ***** toe.

p'tay p'tay p'tay p'tay,
twinkle twinkle whimper star...
p'tay  p'tay  p'tay
   papa(h) to, tato
             this, my father,
               *to
, tato,
    this, my father...
                              am i so cruel?
father, i wish
to be more cruel than
the question attempts to answer...
the only inhibitions
       i have are merely
   thought biases....
                    let your deeds
        come as you sought deeds
of abel's conversation,
   but let mine, come within the
groundwork of cain's ambitions
(disregarded)....
                  peer into my eyes
                    when i peer into
      the night, wearing sunglasses...
the last and the the lost remnant light...
what of the cradle,
            but of the gained number of
scientific peers....
                  rock-ah-baby-rock...
          who said anything of
allowing an object, the subject of
          questioning a capacity of endurance?
who if not non-synthetic could
ask that question within the cricus-act
of performing a sadistic act?
                    only a non-synthetic creature
could perform a circus act
   of sadistic proportions...
    having no gratifying suggestion what
the symbiosis of life-and-death are...
zombified humanoids, in excess scientific,
      with the death of god,
     comes the birth of the dietitian;
                           the true pathos awakens:
a breath, lost in skin.
Mateuš Conrad
Written by
Mateuš Conrad  36/M/Essex (England)
(36/M/Essex (England))   
117
 
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