name :: Riley "SET" Deville mun :: shoji
you're trying too hard
oh
i
unravel
[ undo . bjork ]
if he i will never lie to you he stood in the parlour, keeping his shakes at bay. restless like the wolves and hangered like a limb, he crept; crawled through the shape of his skin and slithered through the desolace desole. whatever he asked for, he mimicked his games, whatever he miscarried-- oh, he miscarried so well. murmured with sancitity to sanctify the lame, the core covered drollops, the mesopotame damed and dirty-- a lace oilcloth in a matchstick flame. salvaged was one word for it-- sparse was another. he left himself cursed in the midnight sun and sank in a salt water that would have none of. looks to be dying that addles his
burial. .
. . . . . . . . . so they all said your friend, foe, and impartial judge. we do the things we do because we want to do them
they pronounced him dead on the scene. cadaver creased and ceased to desist by the very nature of things, they strung his body on a cheesecloth stretcher. a fault of his own not faulted at all, schrapnel shavings listless in an empty father that couldn't have fared their wills any farther. he'd worn stockings that day-- ripped and addled and rambled with holes in their kneesockets. a fishnet reprieve in a tie collared intervention. he laid dead amongst the dying of his parts. the rack and the pinion, a bumper mutilated into contortionist gesture. two headlights, a grille, an exhausted clutch-- bound to the muffler by way of starter ring and gearlock. gridded with apathy and latent defiance, crankshafted, pistoned, and throttled-- belatedly well known in utmost compliance of torqued complacency, kingpin mechanics, and a trafficated transaxle missionary position.
heneveracceptedit a dnr order adjucated by a mother of one, they shut his skeleton in a padlocked room, steaming with cold, gurneyed dry ice, and red-green deficiencies. better off that way for the sake of shameful deceit, she felt. he, on the other side, felt
every single death that wasn't his own
[ or every lack thereof ]
and he screamed,
because it was so fucking dark.
he minced his diseases in the second five minutes of his freedom-- severed his ties in the likeliest of fashions. a phonecall, a disturbance, a vouyeur's delight. he rattled his prattles to the highest bidder, mimicked his monologues on instant repeat. "Get yourself tested. I'm going to die." he wanted to crumble on the count of his lonesome eloquence, but he couldn't survive long enough to defy himself,
he lives with that one now, because he couldn't bring himself to die on his own.
[+] [-]
he might have a goal,
too
ashamed
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