Wednesday 1/30/2008 12:48:00 AM

Poised to the donkey's ass she spat loudly her discontent. The jokers she claimed were not as wild as had been promised. The abortions not as permanent as she had paid for. The book there waiting for her to remember how to read. The infected piss of gods who've torn out their cathaters.

Freedom isn't an asset in this world.

Diaper rashed Gods. Abusing the talcum poweder. Blaming their own assholes for why the shit inside them is still there.

She was constructing her own religion when it occurred to her that they're all lies. Fortunate monkeys looking to dead stars for guidance.

The perpendiculars of skin deciding before we have the time to see what fits. The luxury of skin foreclosing on ambivalent saviors.

What they don't know is why I still believe them when they say I am too far gone.

It's ugly convinceing the dream how to wake up.

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