Notebook 006

Like broken oxymoronic tails, your tokenism is too obvious.
You have soured the catch.
Bring on all this metaphor for it will endevour to shadow.
Shadow in you, and shadow in them.
Black faces yawn with flaking ash smouldering their movement.
It was never meant to be so grave.
You were never meant to look so lifeless dead.
Ash brooked arms reach and scratch at the tiny ripples in skin.
Your fingerprints charred like melted plastic.
I'm glad I took your jaw.
Adorn my shelf with decay and imagery.
Stained and corrupt, the varnish stays so well.
I sniff the carcuss from it's tangible mangles, decrepid and slow.
Laxate the form from which all taken givens are copied.
Repetition. Repetition.
Ctrl. Alt. V.

I looked so handsome with your hair against my palms.

I stroked the shine off till you were matt and dull.



Then I skinned your face and hoped that someone would find you soon.