with any figure one will find ****** satisfaction but not every body will one connect to which one am i to you? i shed the blood of the weak skin tight and rips bare is this good enough? arachnids nest in the crooks of bones i am what you make of me chained to the bricks that build up catholicism brittle, exasperated, unsettled feet sink in with each step conception, conceiving a pluviophile runs rampant in his desert unsure if they were granted the passageway i’ve slipped into a rabbit hole now, haven’t i? brisk dust scratch his name into limbs that won’t stand no longer broken ***** keys play the song of distraction his face etched in my teeth the world is falling apart laundry growing mold in the washer ribs becoming so sunken toothbrush bristles detaching themselves i have the remnants on my breath eternal bliss unattainable, do you find this funny my creator?