Not quite what he expected. Term.

Ended

Reach for exhaustion

Ticking.

Not recovered. I sent you a warning and watched you dance on it from the highway. I can forgive.

Not withstanding. I hate these little games that we keep playing. I wanted to make you flesh, but fell to pieces when I realized I was not God.

Believe the billboards. They'll make you feel better than any of your dumb acquaintences ever could.

Feel for me, because I hate you and I don't know how to stop.

Send me the bill for all of the damage that I caused.

Human cespool. They serve all of your favorites and there's a rumor going around that the mayor will be there. A good networking opportunity, at least that's what I heard.

Be alive, just because.

She did not drown, I found her that way when I was cleaning the pool.

Take me to the

The chorus broke the fall. Stop stopping my heart and I'll stop crying.

Close to mutation. Evolving never revolving. Intentions run wild as he ashes on the night sky contemplating all of the things he should have created. This narrative.

I'm tired, but don't count me out until you're dead.

Admire all the things you marred. Don't expect.

Elevated meandering. No longer jaded. Contemplate carefully. I'll show you all the places I've been wounded but I'm getting tired of you asking and not understanding.

Seeking. Trying to make sense of your broken harmony.

Danger ahead.

One foot at a time as winter suffocates. Victory is an illusion. There is no game. It was all a lie, done with cameras, a hungry crew and gaffer tape. Swinging the pendulum in his heart. Nectar.

I miss your lips. I miss the way they used to drip with desire.

Wounded enemy, I hope.

She sucks the color out of my world, but not out of my dreams. Sensation. Stationary agents. At their desks writing down everything you do and then they wonder why I resent them. It's true that I cause trouble but I wouldn't do it if you didn't bore me so much.

Remember all the things you promised me? Me neither.

Spitting fire and eating ashes. His youth confiscated his reason and now he sells hearts out of the trunk of his car. I saw him just the other day when I was looking for gall bladders and a cure for the voices in my head.

Swollen shut. Dictation as he professes his undying apathy. Resigns.

Tortured youth on a trail of apathy and saline. Smell the salt. Messed around. Powdered dreams.

Offend the hive.

Bludgeoned in his sleep. What was stolen? His lust has atrophied. New hobby. He digs. What he cannot find.

Discerning disasters. Shaded memory and a pocket full of frail kisses.

She wants me to crumble so I'll know what it's like to be her--but I can't stop dreaming. Hand out faith to the hateful and learn to say "no."

Crooked mescaline.