madness, bleeding out of my tear ducts like the slime oozing from the innards of corpses, dripping dew condensing on the stones that comprise the walls of the water well, screaming at me, tearing my bones into splinters
. . .
my subconscious is dripping, dripping red onto the pages of a glowing window somewhere . . .
Friday, July 27, 2018
"There is a tear of fire
And your tongue of light
Caressed by the silent leprosy
Of your palate
Whispers about the gulch of lies
The tranquil occupation of agony
The dire liquors of a mass-grave
And the perilous pedagogy of the abyss."
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