8.7.2025

I see a blissful, visual poetry.
I taste it- feel it on my tongue and slipping down my throat.

In Viscera, and through the pathways of my nerves is an untranslatable language whose own body frustrates me so greatly that I nearly grasp for separation.

It is static;
electric,
and never satisfies itself.

This is dangerous.
It implies my lines of control are blurred.