Yr as guilty as yr hairstyle. Desire
@ the lefft p[eakk &a loww pain.
Splsh f semen on
yello roadpaint
sugarbring me sugar&seratonin
fr my meals rewind the tape 10000
tiny celluloid synapses go
whirring thru the trauma5
feel my/éclat [de colère] is but dust.
Verything is wrong.
Crush my silk top
Thrown over a chair
Blue saliva whr th/weed decays.
Note
[5] You know what’s wrong with you, Miss…whoever you are? You’re chicken, you’re afraid to stick out your neck and say “life’s a fact.” You’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage. Well, baby, you’re already in that cage, you built it yourself, and it’s not in Texas or out east, it’s wherever you go, because wherever you go you always end up running into yourself. People do fall in love, people do belong to each other, and that’s the only chance anyone’s got for real happiness. Here, I’ve been carrying this around for months, I don’t want it anymore. ~Breakfast at Tiffany’s