Sunday, May 13, 2012

Grotesque and Coddled

I'm amazed you even know how to breathe. So I see grotesque things. When awake. Sickening masks hide sickening behavior. Drooling smiles hint at the awful impulses waiting behind the teeth. Chirping birds don't make beautiful music; they vomit war. So much for being coddled. It's not worth the pain and degradtion to want. The cold hands of Mother Nothingness pamper my fat ass. Her touch is a symphony of reality's horns, gunshots and whimpering pleas for some non-existent betterness. I'm not grotesque and coddled. You are.

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