The stiff, almost calculated lust of “perfect” lines and edges plague every soul. The jaggedness, uneven and sickly features found on many, are simply a fabrication.
I have many ((flaws)), the cycle of staring at pure hearted demons in the mirror with the simple and innocent wish to simply be satisfied with what I see, the vessels of sight not only have shown me horrors of my own warmth, but they themselves are the roots of why the laughing demon never leave me.
My eyes are melting, my eyes are melting and decaying, like a sick maggot infested dog on the street, it cries out like a boy in a man’s body that refuses to grow. Fabricated hate, fabricated sorrow, all from miscalculated millimetres of star matter.
Blue, grey, green, barley visible now behind tears of childlike wishes, it’s as if there are fishing hooks settled deep and snuggly on the small lines and edges, pulling down.
Oh “god”, the one that transcends the art of learning, for the all knowing needs no future knowledge, or future at all. I am so foolish for speaking to you on those many silent starless nights, I would say it’s like talking to a wall, but at least a wall is real. I can’t say the same for what others think of my troubles.
I have many ((flaws)), the cycle of staring at pure hearted demons in the mirror with the simple and innocent wish to simply be satisfied with what I see, the vessels of sight not only have shown me horrors of my own warmth, but they themselves are the roots of why the laughing demon never leave me.
My eyes are melting, my eyes are melting and decaying, like a sick maggot infested dog on the street, it cries out like a boy in a man’s body that refuses to grow. Fabricated hate, fabricated sorrow, all from miscalculated millimetres of star matter.
Blue, grey, green, barley visible now behind tears of childlike wishes, it’s as if there are fishing hooks settled deep and snuggly on the small lines and edges, pulling down.
Oh “god”, the one that transcends the art of learning, for the all knowing needs no future knowledge, or future at all. I am so foolish for speaking to you on those many silent starless nights, I would say it’s like talking to a wall, but at least a wall is real. I can’t say the same for what others think of my troubles.
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