I just survived, a black salted split tongue licking my wounds, the most emotional twisted weekend since I banished my heart to reign its ruins as an organ and just as that. To keep me alive, to provide my mind blood. I still feel in a deadly faint. Not deep enough to disappear, but tripping down a thorny memory lane, barefoot and with the sadness of a world on my back. I am very impressed and sickened by the dogmaticalness of… of me. And this is where I end up, in self-hate again, guarded by my epic drama queen – these dickheaded bitch is just the worst. Back in the nursery. Back in the corner. Back in my wonderland, where I wandererd and wondered but never found fertile land to pop my lostness into. Instead I wandered in the shades of blackness, to enjoy, the uniqueness of light, of beauty, of symmetry, of nature. And this being is as beauty as no god will and was ever capable to create. Sorry. She is just flesh, she is just fucking flesh. And not perfect, but threateningly close. And I am naked, eaten off my carcass. All I am blasted off in an ignition of an hormonal chain reaction, opening the chambers of this crippled motherfucker, burried it as deep as possible and for a time it was good. And now the bum is back, temporally delayed, but it arrived, smells and farts again. Bloody tears. Spirits that I’ve cited… thanks for crossing as sharp as a guillotine.
Best regards from the abyss of my heart.