A mirage reverberating in sensations,
the harp of bullets plinking prison bars,
Of Ravenous phantasms in dogmatic silhouettes
Fabricating stitches on my shadows
Gelatinous contours
Seeping tears of sex
A transparent concoction collar
Grasping my retraction
Tearing my nothings muscle
Straining away this undulating vista
To a raw downy vagabond of vanity
I’ll curl up within satiric women
Pop corn and my priceless projector
It’s a double feature… tune in
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This is basically my external harddrive of turtles and shit
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