x-ray room sensory overload scan the trouble in the hope that it goes but it never ever does
I read your faux-punk movements easily as I read the mirror's expressions I'm sick of your questions
I thought I answered all I had to when I said I wished we'd met when we were both younger and naiver to the way of the world and it's tiny inhabitants that want to prove themselves all too brave; I'm as shameless as a dying something--anything.
I say too much to anyone but it doesn't bother me anymore cause I don't see the sense in staying any longer than I have to.
the lumy screen x-ray mission counting ribs but courting what's in-between trying to salvage disease from the pardonable cage use corrective attractors drag them on the screen and mould a mange of the dark spots humble in an alcove zoom in on the spot take out your little skin leafed pocket book clean the cough from your throat and sprout 'the working words of God' a congregation of cancer cells put in their place medicine
I know I'm nothing, to you and to me In fact if you did an X-ray you'd probably find a tombstone in my cold and dead chest cavity I have tried resting but I can't do that reliably Because my brain, while my most valuable ***** is sometimes, if not almost all the time My biggest liability My inability to remember is very hard to forget Forged in foggiest messes is maybe where my head is currently set I'd go to my own world but I'd be driven mad by being alone I don't know what to do and what to look for in my own zone...