The little Death.

distinct lack of excitement. Old ghosts haunt the womb of what could and should. Highlighting flaws of charm. Rubbing of membranes to produce mucus becomes a definition rather than a supplement. Stumble into a sedative of your own masked being. Suckling at the breast or malnutrition, sublimation. Petals froth bite at opportunities to replace mental with physical sensation. even after the knower has reasoned sensation into a thick paste of discontent. strength sought, never found, only replaced with sickening deafness. behaviors morphed, twisted and screwed on a future that falls from the slick hip bones of a wilted self. succumbing to a lucid picture of a dysfunction. no longer welcome in a pupil of any figure. young girl obsessed, movement may be slow, but viscous bile that surrounds will make it so.


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