hidden in the hatchback of goatbreath is the smell of accepted failure. it hums in nostrils. netsick nostrum, holes are burning in my chakra. i seal the deal with seven cigarettes. my stomach bleats at the wealth of judgement, chaotic topology, four hundred calories under four dollars and the ghost that steals it. we metabolize knowing-better until achy. it cinches under my vice reel. vent ounces off the odd keel. cheesey sequence of solitude. sepulcher of the scape goat. wiles of worry, dancing off the coast, calibrated. we carved a mouth on the grave to kissit. some lives. we stained the hull with ****** caramel. sub lies. pick up my sanity from the pharmacy. the world fell short of your specialty.