FORLORN PORN/Sketches


lovely morbid anti hero istically affected by forlorn porn, otherwise known as depression – ha ha.

horny sordid convulsing frays – fractus, frangere, ions of my reversal pining down the ricochet like its a slow motion bell letting off steam from the rail roads of love screaming, at loss and a-toss with love, horror and sorrow, a mean volatility, that befits as only it can revelations of lust. where only love can explain the wrought hell, the mercilessness of a defiance, chained to sinking baseness of time.

the wretched beast of gods lonely confession chained to a wall of stark torment (and rapaciousness) that swirls in whirlwind of sacrement and destitution, wild piercing awls whirring along with the grave insipid impossibility of time in a way that is cracking up -awesome.

why. why down that vomitous lengths, like a toilet of death. I put licenses to do good above my toilet. and escape into an unfeasability of relish for the sake of itself and bemoan with dormant lust the escalation of its trechury startled with its vomit that longs for beauty.

the ruba dub dub. routine. slippers and bathtub. blood dripping with extispicy’s epiphanies. for the god of a good nights sleep may your tomb be round.

going bob bob robbin’ along – never to let you out, missed chances galore with love. worms where torment grooms sword in teeth like a rose darned with crazy mephitic-a – obligations of death, where beauty swallows the monster whole more than sweetness can relent and wired to the poses of hell, moles that trench wallowing with pride, skull.

that death and the maiden fire in a vacuum – that tears the heart grotesque prismatically apart square against chips off the dynamite, block. illicit for love. at tip of tongue – where the rising beauty blasphemy of love forges, rhymes splat with guano excrement of sea birds, like this, media tistically, risky en route, glop and grope for the bring-y it on of beautiful you. departing of late – by the hour.

in divine waters angels pee. hopeless with love. raising fists – to rhythm of moon.

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