Sitting in a pool of ****, other peoples ****, **** all over me, I am nothing, just an object, a still life subject art school joke, I'm a mess, a **** stain, a fugitive on the run, running away from life.
Once i told him i saw my pencil case moving by itself as i wrote down a poem he said he couldnt believe so i said: its not my problem, i do. and he replied: actually, it is. and oh, i realized. it is.
This blood flowing from my mouth is my desire to kiss you good night good morning good evening every single day, bleeding through my veins because love has never been a one way course but this just seems to be a lonely love of a lonely lover.