(no subject)
everything stops
spurts of secrecy overflow my already full cup
my legs dangle just inches away from immortality
-- i’ve got to go find the knife
the thought was on the edge of normality
the idea was spun around a hundred and eighty degrees
-- my legs were dangling up
truly? No.
perfectly? No.
but no motif could stop me
no complication could invade my personal cocoon of oneness
(everything stops)
