A cheap fuck for me to lay
Dandelions after roses died. Lavender replacing vanilla. Something took a part of me. Safety in numbers. I have always imagined forty-two to be the answer, now I am not so sure. One is the only legitimate number, even if it is not primed. Numbers are painstakingly difficult. A deep thought occurred to me a few moments ago, unable to harness that slippery profundity due to being too abstruse. Counting the days of an unnecessary post-apocalyptic breakdown. I am slowly fading away, succumbing to the every other day epistaxis that I have had for years . My vessel is falling apart. I need to heighten my acute sensitivity, taking control behind these four walls. Time is not my friendly neighbourhood arachnophilia. And during my deepest of profound thoughts I found myself mingling about the universe and time and ainhoic transgressions over and over again, as usual, but this time it will not be for naught. I must persevere, even if my head hurts and I cannot recall anything soonafter. My only