Ultimately, whether function or form
inevitability strikes at the achilles tendon of
anything with a pulse

There's a **** in my hair
Choke it out with a hangman's noose of silk
Platinum, diamond, and gold
Elderly women scrubbing under folds

This disgust, contempt, and ill begotten logic
of false idols, impressions, and spiritual fog
Breaking backs of lambs for the feast
And watching them writhe and struggle

Darkness
And on the sunny side of day
There's Ice Cream in my Snicker's bar
Spider-Webs
Lowered beds
I wish they had wheels
So I could drive by night
Assaulting with dreams and wonder
No nightmares here
Just night mares

Walking along the sandy beaches
Staring at the sandy beetches wondering
Why am I here?
Right now, at this moment,
And why for the life of me, can I not escape the demons on my back

The worst part of life is the truth
It's the hardest **** to swallow
Fiber for the human centipede

I wish my wit were a tad sharper
And my **** a tad longer
I had a mental image of a thumbtack...
then I thought of my ****
I'm not that small, honestly

Mental webs sprawling on paper (?)
No, this is the computer
I'm just typing ****
What happened to the days of writing in cursive
to show affection to one far away?
In the end, we send an text to close another day
"LU Q T, ILL BE GON 4 2 DAYS"

In reality it's me that's gone away
No sweetie, no honey
No baby here
Self-pity party for the rather queer

I am not what I want
And I am not who I should be, right?
That's the reason I fight this fight?
I need to be better, I want to be better
And that's why I'm writing this
Letter by letter