I'm looking at an angel, he's sitting in a gas chamber. The entrance to his mouth is cracking a smile, as
the entrance to my soul becomes increasingly dim. My patience will never gain a moment of it's leisure back.
Patient and waiting for time to end, while this stagnant bag of moist flesh I wait in drives me around the world.
The line of best fit is the worst path to take to get anywhere in life. The glass in my marrow is starting to thin my bones.
I'm reminded by my darling sister that I'm not the desires I seek, but for now, I'm still the wolf inside with a hard-on four inches thick
and thirty inches long.
I'm looking at a demon, she's walking in my small mind. The abstract place, usually conceived in words as her bed,
has sweat stains, as my heart becomes sore. My dreams will never replace the circumstances I've put my life through.
Dreaming and wailing for the seventh seal to be opened, while this strong ego keeps grabbing for a grip, dividing me from my heart.
The proof by exhaustion mode is straining. My heart in its hole keeps pounding fierce as I try to keep my food and alcohol down.
I'm reminded by my indecorous past that I'm not the love people have for me, as for now, I'm the housekeeper with a shoplifting problem
that goes home to a dirty house.
I'm looking at a man, he's concentrating on his sadness. The cave inside his heart is rotting and stench,
it's sour and sticks to the carpet inside my mouth. My love contained; I still have feelings for the feelings I've had.
Disinterested yet reformed by new aspects, while the bold, fleshly idea I keep in a box, deep inside my cerebellum, rots.
The equations to life are simply hidden 'til we have time to think. The liquid tears roll down my face as my roots break and bleed.
I'm reminded by my wine bottle - empty - that I'm not the passions I've been, for the time being, I'm the force that is contained in electricity that
no man can tame or vanish.
I'm looking at a woman, she's dying on the side of the road. The cleavage framed by her bloody shirt is asking me something,
something I'm not totally convinced is right. My waywardness has hardly been the character I should be reasoning my fortitude with.
Deceitful and waning as my eyes prospect: soft, clammy and shivering, her body is a violent machine, struggling to live as I want to leave.
The alchemy is becoming too powerful to fight. My diaphragm contracts as the vomit in my mouth is pouring out forceful and hot, strenuous, dynamic.
I'm reminded by my spiritless lasciviousness that I'm not the equations that scientist seek to solve, for the time being, I'm that hideous beast in the corner of all my favored dreams.