There is nothing left of me
But flesh and mechanical thought
Sinful spinster split senses
Surrogate sensations
Sounding sources sewing slowly
So soft
So sincere
So absssssent
There is nothing left in me
But guts and mechanical thought
Wickedly liberated divided sanity
Replacement vibrations
Echoing foundations stitching gradually
So elastic
So honest
So lexicon
This is what is left here, on the bruised organ I call my compassion,
Veins and mechanical thought
brutally modern alienated wisdom
alternate feelings
hollow basics strip away regularly
So expandable
So straightforward
So agonizing
All of this written minus my soul
Eye miss my sole