Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Mantra for the Contalateral Soul in a Medical School Environ

Elevating, elevating, elevating, elevating, elevating ... Exploding ... Watch me go nova in your eye. Refracted into your optic nerve an illusion of bull. Got this feeling and it aint pure. Gonna yell, shout, expel filth and see how well this insanity carries me. Gonna taste that decay; let it leave a spot of decadent nasty on tongue and go cry alone, die alone memory of your smell irritating my nose. See. This. Is. How. I'm gonna end. Im gonna grab you tight, dive into the abyss, hit the ground and enjoy the crunch of bones, exploding organs as we crash together into hard reality. This sort of love is what I only know - messy, gorey, leave your dead behind, Imma leave dirty-blood tracks. Taste your still breathing remains and grin bloody with crooked teeth. Baby if you only knew. Baby if you only knew ... This monster. You dont, which is why im f&cking you up, while you f%ck me up. Let's do that f^ckwarp again! God and a deep fried biscuit. De-elevating, de-elevating, de-elevating ... Imploding ... In your pants. Guts all ischemic, mind liquifactively necrotic, erotic, and soupy goop seeping out my ears, staining my trousers foul, giving me something to be alive for.

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