I remember. A lot. Retention is knee jerk and not conscious.
Souls wrought like iron.
Hide in your cave until the light returns and you forgive yourself the impatience winter demand as its dues.
You mean the idea of accepting that you won’t want to accept the truth?
Now stop and fear me. Very good, beast.
I love the lapping crests of waves on shore like tongue on my cunt.
But, this desert of diurnal dehydration
recalls howl we do not drink water whilst sleeping,
though dreaming allegedly burns as many calories as wakefulness.
I am the power of your dreams and the incapacitation
of your night-mares.
Horseapples are not so delicious as horseradish
And mushrooms taste of warm, spilt semen.
And this perpetual goal of ascertaining the unobtainable makes me corrigibly incorrigible.
Contained to overflowing.
Delicious duplicity of discomfort.
And every shudder forces the air out and through my diaphram,
and, I feel my ribs struggle against constriction.
I can count them inside myself, through the agency of this binding,
Just as you could now count them with your fingertips.