Since i left you....

There has been an undercurrent of bitterness which has bubbled to the surface, a pretence lightly skimmed off other peoples bittnerness. It's ok to feel ones strange fruit.

I'm physically reacting, wanting to annihilate, plot and scheme a glorious downfall purely with self gratification wiped across my smile one vertebrae at a time.

I think i'm entering a phase of quiet-horror.

Everything is going back to black not as counter-culturing this regurgitation of neon on thin-cotton print, thin thin cotton print.

If you took out concepts of beauty, every ideal what is left to say about yourself?