hurrying, sleeping sand-rubbed a steak salt grit and getting quickly limitless.
and so, in getting sick, a fever intoning no humming and falling into disrepair
and disappearing into despairing the sensitive parts of the body filling with blood
and rubbed against the arm of a couch turn to black jelly, the sensitive parts
rubbed rough against the back of the fist fall to smaller and smaller pieces, wet and throbbing
a strange of black fruit fingers the stinking vine, a silver photograph at the base of the throat
a terrible fucking sound the crotch worships pink and torn against ruined temples of black and gold
the body hurting, the slow shifting of frozen stones in the dark, a mouthful of
the swollen scar of all suffering, red succulent plants filling with sewage and mercury
and it a thick blister rubbed open, rubbed apart friction and dampening
between the legs a tonsil, the dying of a beautiful flower petals dropping off
or folding inward, a rope of soft white muscles work themselves deeper, a perception of violence
a black square shutting a soft red mouth and blocking out the moon, a man raising his flattening palm
and wine the fraying of unwinding veins humped against the fabric bust of a pillowcase
ugly and getting faster and faster and turning to black jelly a metal taste in the back of the throat
and grease, awful the steam it rubs out and awful the way it cums.
brahmaea wallichii
(via disturbingimages)
(via tentaclegarden)
