27 June 2012
You wish for all the dreadful bulks to disintegrate before cockcrow. You wonder if garbage enzymes taste like rotten starfruits and cheddar. You don’t know how to fix a wispy, broken arm of a space monkey. You stare at your own brainchild plenteously- a scaly fish burger and could almost smell the funk, raw and filthy. You are dumb with speech, there’s a beer bottle spinning in mid-air, and you just want to go to sleep…
Forever The Sickest. • Opuss № I