Monday, February 19, 2024

Abigail's Double Antidote


Abigail's Double Antidote


Pink swollen tongue.

Pink swollen plunger.

Shelf knives now dull from too many femurs. (Expedite the frost at the end of the mountains) ~

Fluffy ass shit. Neutron pulling my cuticles : down down down. Amazing face break. 🎚turn turn turn my lights out.

The sound of those wooden hand made sidewalks and sand/shit filled boots (just straight fucking chillin') make happy/not happy /// doubling down for a Christ named "Brandon."

"Tell Me Your Name Is Satan So When We

Fuck, You Can Drag Me Down To Hell."

A Wyoming miscarriage and a couple of Dung Beetles. ~ L O V E H A T E

                              M A C H I N E

softing the lost wing

Basketball (Mike Bibby) Г fuck delectable differences meant to make to feel like a fucking high socked wearing fresh kicks having loser and suck a dick for that discount and honorary lifetime achievement award for biggest forehead.


Losting the soft wing

Mechanisms don't work no more. The chairs are too cold and stiff. Someone is trying to kill us. Someone is trying to kill us with maybe a blade or a mage or a sunshine of health. Laying low like a broken hammock with some jizz jazz dirt hippie playing harmonica in it. (The sheep's and lamb's may fall asleep softly and gentle tonight)

Lemme know how the wheat feels on your fingertips when you're running away to the moon and escaping the knee burns from the bathtub.                                  Hail Mary.               ðŸ…¾ðŸ…¾ðŸ…¾ðŸ…¾ðŸ…¾ðŸ…¾ðŸ…¾ðŸ…¾ðŸ…¾

An idle ant sale will help with the downhill.

Now we cry again.

Sweet dearest Abigail, please don't die anymore. You're killing me. How many roses do I need to buy to realize you will be better off alive? Keep coming back and stay here for once. Because once I die... we will never see each other again. No amount of roses and teardrops will bring me back but everytime I cry you come back and its not fair anymore.

You are my heaven tonight.


Wooden floors.

Daydream apocalypse.

Daydream glass × skinny window reflections. Sharp air. I'm feeling light again and I'm inspired again.

I still hate myself though.

-------------- X --------------- _____________________

Let us be with our so called demons.

Let my pink nails fade into dark ash.

Let's remember Asbury Park.

Let's remember making each other shirts wet from tears and complete utter disaster.



Blow mold of Santa in the sand dunes.

A hatch on a level of no solitude. A broken deck of cards whistling with the milk thistle. Moaning and melting and making cereal in the morning in a extra large button up white dress shirt with no pants.

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When will I not hate tomorrow?

Hourglass breaking from a hissy fit.

Uncomplimentary sushi on a neon green high horse. Examine the dirt ramps before we break our shins off on these DK Iron Cross Magnesium pedals. (Jeez)

Black cat crossing. Toilet paper hoedown.

"The bees knees over here boss!"

The decrepit frame of all of us.

The undusted tramps of nobody.

A Napoleon man and a shape shifter.

I'm leading my way to myself of myself and through those white curtains as they brush my forehead, I will cry and I will hurt and leave a vessel open for the next pelican and crawfish.