Your Idea Of Facism And Global Intervention Makes Me Puke
Pull these scars from my face of overreacting. scissor snip the concrete hollow medication. programmed thinking, thinking almost as fast as me. we wore out talking in unfamiliar language. i dreamt of philadelphia thinking it was new york. i wished for this hoping it was real. over the ringing of my chest i heard the phone and in this dream, she came in red hair. for every inch of her was delicate and detailed by a fond interest and i'll give anything, anything to be put back at ease. for anything i'd forget myself to become the dance so you'd be in love with me. i wished for you hoping this was real. counting hours of sleep to catch some cure and just an ounce of rest. the texture kills these nostrils. these photographs flood fading to their complimentry Roraschach tests. biting at nails as you sleep quietly amongest the feathered lights of easing tranquility. i kiss myself to catch any taste of you left upon me. i hold the empty air believing only for you. i drown in these tears and every sentence runs through over and over to become deadly comfortable.
