Oh burn me, burn me down.
Fuck this. There is no poetry left. There is only the dead clutch, the shrieking grope of nerveless blood reaching for...
Nothing. Nothing again nothing again nothing.
FUCK.
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"This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but a whimper." --T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men."
Madness
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2004
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March
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- Do you feel it? Or am I the only one here in the ...
- Oh, your violin is slaughtering me. There is barbe...
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- Oh burn me, burn me down. Fuck this. There is no...
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- Have you ever sat, bludgeoned into silence, with V...
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- A TIGER WITHOUT CLAWS You left today, A golden d...
- Tiger's gone.
- Do you remember me? I don't.
- She is dying. She is suffocating. Aw, God.
- I strove through the stagnant verbosity of my word...
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March
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Illusions
- Kyle
- Los Angeles, California
- South, toward mangos and the sea.
I will cleave until the white ugly heart of your skull is barren and yet I shall love you to the uttermost days of my life.
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