Dark Writings #3 (Monday, April 5th 2004) (Explicit)

She smiles and I cry.  Visiting guilt sits in front of my face.  My feelings are deep-rooted, in her soul.  Flowing through my veins and deep within my heart is every inch of her spirit.  I love my girl.

 

They play with their lives.  They play with themselves.  They touch their breasts.  They enjoy wet fellatio.  They are here to harm us.  They are evil.                                     WHO ARE “THEY”?

 

Clinging Cunts Conjure Creepy Cats.

 

ARE YOU INSANE?                                                                                                                            Yes.  I think I am.                                                                                                  Impure.  Evil.  Terror.  Horror.  Depression.                                                                      I do not apologize.                                                                                                   What now?                                                                                                                                          Just shut the fuck up!  Piece of shit!                                                               

Get me out of here!  These discussions that I have with my dirty pillowcase, are extremely informative.                                                                                      My mind is the Art of Theatrical temper-tantrums.  Not illicit fantasy.

 

Short and sweet.  Cute and sensual.  Lovely and intelligent.  Small and petite.  Pure and sexy.  Innocent and evil.  Luscious and intimate.  All describing…? 

 

Decades come and go.  The years pass and no one is alarmed.  This single event has turned everything upside down (inside out).  The rapid currents have now stopped.  The bottom is clear nothingness.  Slide in and out of the mystical dream phase.  The tragedy will be brought to life on the very stage that I have designed.  A strange unearthly being is now residing in my brain.   How are you doing, my fantastical friend?

 

A round landscape is the centerpiece of Destructive Impulses.  The paintbrush is circling my thumbs, engulfing me in purple flames.  Whispering bells can now be heard within my mind’s sanctioned community.

 

 

©Timothy Grassan

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