Little pedantic however thematically my
thoughts sound, the monkey roots spell out a Mancunian twang. How
deep does it spring? How muddy is my water? Speak. Justify my
mutilations and share it, like a drunk cunt. Everything is a web
when you magnify it these days. But what to weave and how I ask
myself. Speaking cryptically – again, off on my tandem -
Rumplestiltskin unseen imp I am - Without the gold. Left foot in
mouth - tearing myself in two. Cycle again and seen unseen sectioned.
Another week of white walls. Perspiring men, good people. Magazines.
Sleep maybe - now. Best not Dwell. Lurk
instead. Night. Night never again, the memory came again keen, amoral for
something stronger. The wheel spins the thread.
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