What strangled me the farce in the nightsnake or the narcissism of all survival instincts didn’t make it to morning
What bleeds bleeds ardently or trips over suffocation to g e t to lemon clenched as many yellow entryway henchmen huddle in their citrus grins
And by then divine intervention is as good a s the last song and as long false
You’ll find yourself humming middle notes to the Boy if you don’t get Vine compilation winding your hips possessed by the rhythm of eight seconds of hearsay It was expiation
such expensive fun for eight seconds one Sunday they all danced in blackface
Toward the same dazed revenge I’d been trapped in eternal with some oxytocin so long I felt imperialism giving my body an offer it couldn’t refuse and I jumped too grabbed you by the hand and the chasm it was Sunday they spent their lotto money on tarot and braids we made drugs in the basement jumped our simulations and fucked for free
