i... i love him and i will pay with fire and brimstone maybe i’ll realize that the plot arc of my life doesn’t really make any sense anymore that i don’t know where i’m going (i never really did) and i’m falling i’m ******* falling
the potter's wheel lays in disuse the clay has cracked much like ourselves crazed in the heat of our crucible the teacups are but shards and no golden lacquer remains to mend, to smooth sharp edges
we cherish things until we can replace them
"fragile, handle with care" i didn’t test in an inconspicuous spot i didn’t reset to factory default i didn’t come assembled but i didn’t come broken either
we were dealt the cards before we even knew we were players
and i cry for innocence had, and innocence lost innocence misplaced, and innocence taken
my nightmares lathered in sterile surgeon cyan after all, we lobotomized machines could never feel
what pleasures lie, in those frosty windowed wards! arched backs, bucked hips gossamer cauls of flesh unwillingly broken bulimic hearts, skinny love i need not drink but the viscous milken nectar of our lust what pleasure, achilles! what pleasure?
what pleasure is there in the supplication of sutured flesh? iphigenia, astynome...briseis— flesh blemished, removed, replaced housing haunted souls
heracles, phaethon, oedipus, icarus... are we too consigned to eternal song, that bitter deathless death, like our tragic forbearers? our glory, our hamartia lies only in our love, philtatos
when wisdom brings no profit to be wise is to suffer
the proud will be humbled and the humble will be exalted
quell your arrogance mitotic spindle
my name means glory to the father and i am the prodigal son
all is equal in the chaotic omniscience of mitosis, of death, of entropy, of war