dis fiction

Sky bring me crimson before I sicken and swell and burst. Bring me life clotted in sticky strands, red drooling obscenely down my white pale legs like the spit of a cannibal who’s recently eaten. I’m having impure thoughts, world, I’m carrying the seed of destiny in my minds desire. Create a path of reasoning away, please, create a river flow tumble of flesh and need and peace without death. I’m not craving blackness, I’m not craving a grave, but the opposite. The womb calling logically, little two feet with both our patterns upon the sole. Bring me blood, world, let it be mine, world. Praise me with patterns, praise me with lust, praise me with the most basic of needs, but allow me to package them in the way I desire. Test tube sterility, like fucking a pump. It’s late in the night, early morning in hour, writing this now means few will read it, few will see it. I’m learning, life, to hide in plan sight, to claim in tongues made clear by dreaming.

I went to the play today, I was enraptured quietly by birds made of people and the relationships between them. Love triangles with multi-species dimension. After we spent time with the One Yellow Rabbits, catching a taxi with them to R&B food at the Swans by the water. Michael Green is enchanting, gentleman sweet, I see completely why this man is family.

My paid account runs out in three days. Thank you to the mysterious benefactor, whomever you are.

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