Symbiotic Cesspool

Slice it down the middle. Open it wide. Allow it to slide. Reach into it. Catastrophe within, contained within the blasphemy. Below your low hanging, swinging, wrinkled, and stretched-out jowls. Questing without reasoning. Searching without perching. Learning the bounds of your body’s putrid justification. Purging your sepsis for all to see. Your own personal resurrection. Time lies within the hands of the shattered remembrance. Forgetting all it has ever watched over. Anathema for all you have ever lived. Sacrifice nothing you are about to relive again. Symbiotic cesspool of experiences within your withdrawal. Brain dead. Necrotic bed. Your soul dies within its crawl. There is nothing beautiful about your bleeding lips. Questing and infesting your shattered depths. Bleed into me all of your sickly desired reasoning. Slowly pulling me out of my diseased intake. I watch as this disdain, slowly drips itself away from your lizard-esque tongue. Wanting to taste your memories as you speak them away. Thin lips know nothing of thick desires. Only the flesh can be remembered within these drippings. Delicately bland, is what I have become to know you as. Claiming to be the goddess of light. There is no light I can use to see you with. I am blinded to your existence. You should persist from within, until you become deceased. I will maintain my own resilience. I have met you before in the past, only you had a different name back then. There are many of you who are the same, but always go by different names. I can still smell the rotting depths within your stench. Your type of necrosis makes my cock so hard. The smell of your depths is quite intoxicating. Killing the lovers, you may have thought you conquered within your lost past. Cautiously masking your poisonous ambrosia with another putrid aroma. I like watching you; exerting yourself through the effort you think you are putting into living your life. No one knows better than another. These are complicated times. Complicated and time consuming, is your ethic of personal aesthetics. I love watching you; watching how you casually create your personal blend of a petrified suicide. A fatality within the genome. Roots that were never sewn. A home that was never planted. A chance was never given for it to be grown. The mind living behind its own bars.