still more.

walk. walk untill you bleed.

fast. fast untill you starve. wait for your bones to break. taste dust. taste the nothing that once was filled your mouth and wet your tounge for words. beg. beg for every scrape you need to survive. never recieve. go mad. know what it is to love. then loss your mind. this is life. this is what it is to live. this is the only way to feel with intinsity. this is the only way to feel any thing at all.  numb your brain then allow the blooks to lift. think of trees and coarse rope. think your old frineds burning the garden. think of his eyes as he staired. think of the smirk and the grin. his chin as he shook a condesnding, saticisfied expressing and walked away. 

naked. that moment presses your forever naked. remove that image from his mind. cut that moment from existance and who are you. what shapes a reality forgotten moments after it happens. 

new life spung from depression and sadness. space is the hope that often paintes these withered shells. 

ripping though the darknest manifest in the night. desire leaves you barren and words fleeting. 

i am not saticififed. 

where have you been. where are you. who are you. did we ever know. 

who am i?

contextual

drunk. dunk on water and snot. drunk on the life that seaps into skin though the holes too small to see. blured vision and dead sight. fope for tomorrow and a razor thin blade to balance desire and need. when it fails split it in half. when she fails split her in half.

where ahve you been?
black cloth, pilled cotten, rough on pale skin wool sheets over crimson silk. stark contrast. in every way these his sight caught the contrast. feeling his own skin for the first time in days. years. blood rush and blood lust. he grips her leg in his and slids his hips up her thigh. its not the skin that he craves. its not the pleasure that bought him back here. he looks deep. deep into eyes long forgotten. a scent rises to his sences and sends shivers through him. his eyes close and head turns back.

shes reminded of the snake. the way it stairs so still before the strike. she feels the cold on her back. the coarse on her side and sees the way her skin paints her naked upon this bed. she has no remorse. no fear, or desire. these emotions lack name but have corsed though her before. this is what it means to love him. awaiting extasy and expecting stake.

images pass. written in ink and water coller then transposed though peep holes brodcasted to the nerve centers least likely to remember and recorded in missspelled words wtitten in the waking hours lost mornings. sleeping bodies fill the sould of the maind lost. discription of parel is never spoken and never undetood by the long silent narator.

he feels mouth water as his teeth press her neck. who is this girl. not the one in his arms. the one in his mind. th\epping through gass placed there by children he remembers flight. ringing the blood from his wings he remembers winds. this is not why we made you.


transparent he stairs. drunk again in his use. theres no poing in testing depth when the bottom is clear.