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 ***** 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