Please excuse this overwhelming urge to paint personal worlds of ego and compulsion. Sick and obsessive, sticky and forever. Strung up like christmas lights around the necks of every innocent little girl. Shadows that are deeper than the real thing, and darkening all the time.
Another log in the fire, another time.
A unique and independent decision made by committee… and now, suddenly, outside the rain is really coming down. It rests on your neck and your lips, drinking you up completely, absorbing the parts of you you’ve tried to hide. Alcoholic flush, desire and want. And now, suddenly, I’m confused. Heavy and sweating; flesh keeping time. Songs will spill from my head for days… engage our organs like the bow across the string. Finish the book by the author with the phony name.
