via zsg

(like finger-fucking with your pinky)

Anyway, so it goes: Clippity-clop. Walk, hop, clack, plop. I'm dirty as fuck: I haven't moved in months and I think it's enough, enough to get bed sores or for some sort of venereal disease...no, none of that, I was barely just born, I don't think, unless momma, but no...I think I'm cool when I'm three because way before schools I was reading and swimming and apparently doing what my father imagined squares to be. I was a virgin/ For such a long time; in some sense I still am, in some sense I never was...in the way that matters I and a whore like me, blazing hot. But I was a virgin, for all intents and purposes, when I saw a wreathed queen that loved me, I thought. I'm such a fucking idiot, but at least I loved: my god did I dream of your golden sunshine for long ! My nymphs, like my bitches and my hos, I will want to paint together with everything I own. I was a baby, you saw? I was pretty golden back in the day. In my pond, I was odd: I can't think I was anything but indifferent to everyone but my own. But I loved, I certainly loved...tenacious since then, I've always loved for too long for my own good. I've had no love, not once, not ever, no one I'd ever consider dying for, no one I'd fuck too, anyway...love as most may see it is certainly uncertainly the most abnegating sort of affection, one which is both endogenously and exogenously decaying in the hopeful attempt at the creation of symbiosis: this symbiosis must confront endogenous and exogenous psychological pressures in order to live as such a symbiosis: Although now I'd prefer not to think about this, but if I had to comment, I'd say these matters could also be quite temporarily and spacially dependent, unless one is to wither forlorn in memories of times and locations of sugary concoctions (flashes of maybe perception plus angst inevitable to our fruitless lifeblood confections in this daze of emotion we call fuck confusion