i never understood the phrase home is where the heart is until i was shaking on the floor of my hospital room and it was nothing but walls and even when i found the energy to decorate with cliché little things like fairy lights, posters, my skeletal “art” i felt the room swallow me whole until i was nothing but a grain of sand my new roommate was a wrinkly zucchini-girl and i tried not to speak to her but we heard each other cry in the night and we never said a word but i could feel her eyes on me a girl down the hall heard me talking about my addiction and she told me she would pray for me later that day she pushed me into a wall and pressed her lips against mine then told me i was tempting her, i was a sin just waiting to happen so i sat in the dark outside her room every night before i went to sleep and sometimes she would come out and hold my hands and tell me she loved me
Prism paradise. Administer the scimitar serum. Stray, gleam, candied eyes. Stay, morbid stars, Sermon on the shoe horn The 10, Ja commandant Glacial looking glass, I love what you’ve done with the place.
Hook him up to the machine. Shock his brain into mediocrity. Death stalks him; he is aware. There is too much flash in his eyes. His brain needs a reboot; he needs to forget, like a goldfish, like a monkey in the zoo. Hook him up to the machine. He is too sentimental. Salmon swim in his blood; he has a paisley heart, and a tie-dye soul. He can smell colors. Hook him up to the machine. He has Van Gogh eyes, and a Bukowski gut; he walks like he's lost in a maze; hunchback sadness, butcher knife nerves, Hook him up to the machine. He believes in love, and has too much trust. His vivid green memory is a curse, we need to crash it, **** the eternal spring. Hook him up to the machine.