tastes like old coffee and feels like perspirating armpits
the disguisting is delightful
dry, sticky lips
I don't want to be anywhere else but here
perched in a corner, swaying to Fiona
ready to swoop
and to sit with peers at a bar
spiders crawl up my front
while i stare at their legs
familiar faces on strange bodies
nails stretch to inconvient lengths
stale liquids, damp arms
stare into walls
[ek, written on a whim without rewrite]
No comments:
Post a Comment