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| metaphor killed the porno star fragmented trash of reality oozing filthy broken slush into the hurricane's blue, blue eyes. precious maggots adoring my flesh bruising my ego with petal-soft mouths chewing and chewing and chewing at this tight canvas restricting my limbs, breaking my heart, abusing my lust. spider love dumping sane eggs into my colon where they crawl up into my liver to survive on my bile and irritate my interior sinuses with webs of good intention. nothing will flush them out. they will rot here inside of me, feeding from my bones long after i've died. they will create a new me - a girl without fear or creativity or concern for others. they will manipulate me with sleek movements of their bottle-glass bodies and take over my life before anyone has begun to notice the loss of someone who could care. wait a moment... ...do i hear the buzz of insects? perhaps they have already infested me just before i could open my eyes, before i could vomit up their poison. what might that bitter taste be? what is this vile thing i have swallowed? what is this ache twisting my stomach and devouring my soul? me. not they, but we. oh, no... ... it was always (un|deniably) myself. [b.r.e.a.k] (2-14-02) |