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perfect skin
So, I woke up again. Isn't it great being fed every single day without required sustenance and in place
substance and toxic drivel. I adore it and I say to you I think the truth doesn't matter. Just the facts and the embellishing
garbage that lines the surfaces and appears in fractals to make it more flowery and fucking pretty.
This time things will be different. An utterance that echos and falls on deaf ears and the emotional balancing act that
catastrophically holds up appearances with flaw and a certain lack of lust and sophistication. Stopping the profuse
and flooding bleeding that sickens me on every front and foundation. The lack of spark to drive and drivel and to make excuses.
This is where i stand. Let's take time in examining the wounds and clutter of shrapnel that lines my esophagus and dredges through
places I don't care to be.
