excuse the personal pronouns

by ale



motifs like innate disgust when my appetite makes me go holy fuckballs.
I brushed my teeth thrice but still taste regret on my vile tongue-
soon taste nothing but agonistic seams of my pants.


If I could rip apart fibrous tissue and liquidate niagara falls,
that would be life-giving. And so assume victor, what protest political
euthanasia you say? Put me on book depository I promise I belong there.
Much like our virtual coexistence, voice over screen shut up siri.


I haven’t been listening to much, mainly cause evanescence is scarcely perceptible.
I mean obviously dumbass, cursory; foxes cry they aren’t even fleeting
though you’re probably worth hyenas tears.
But if their chocolate patched dark pellets recur in temptation,
animus antipathy – hello nausea we meet again.