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.