deepundergroundpoetry.com
The 'How' guide to surviving Winter. FREE.
The dumplings are cold, and the stomach is disinterested, so it doesn't really matter.
I whisper 'sorry' for the waste, to the empty space of changing light, I'm not shocked at the lack of response.
I bite my nails and move from seat to seat and never aim to settle the body or mind. Pleasuring myself in this grotesque maze of walls and floors and ongoing time.
The electricity goes, I haven't paid it for another month.
The water is cold, you know the drill.
The body is gluttonous of world loathing and chemical-imbalance. I don't, however, want to blame anything for the all-burning sensation of sadness, the real emotion, that is grazing my familiar skin.
I whisper 'sorry' for the waste, to the empty space of changing light, I'm not shocked at the lack of response.
I bite my nails and move from seat to seat and never aim to settle the body or mind. Pleasuring myself in this grotesque maze of walls and floors and ongoing time.
The electricity goes, I haven't paid it for another month.
The water is cold, you know the drill.
The body is gluttonous of world loathing and chemical-imbalance. I don't, however, want to blame anything for the all-burning sensation of sadness, the real emotion, that is grazing my familiar skin.
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