He tells you to cut off
your left breast.
You'd better do as he says,
your nipples want to burn. That breast was just an implant
anyway. It can be replaced with a death's head moth or death's door itself. Or an old scratched album of The Doors or a new woman with less scratch marks. Stretch marks create their own dance move in which you want to maneuver your way out
of your flesh and all its moth holes. You can’t help but want to move out of the fatty strobe, cr
Invasive Dead Leaf I can't fit all the praying mantis's on my fingers, so I let them crawl inside my mouth. Maybe I'd rather be eaten
on the inside, instead of chewing off someone else's head in less than ten minutes.
Dead leaf, devil's flower, I don't believe in these judgmental gods that escalate the hate in a different direction. Hate is hate. If you're going to bite off my head,
you might as well be direct about it
and start with my heart. Spit me out of your copulat
Dark Princess by Juliet Cook and j/j hastain
I feel like applying my own thigh pressure to this star, when i don't know where i should throw
what i feel the need to express.
Should I pitch it all over the place
or throw it away
or alternate? Does it matter? Grey matter stirs my ideas into body parts that extend beyond vertical and horizontal
and the borders of reality
intersect with the next five course lap dance from a yapping chihuahua burned at the stake. Strip