the thunder is coming so i hunker down to the approaching storm. thoughts trip quickly as the atmosphere thickens with the weight of nothingness and i fear i may have miscarried the lord there is so much blood and so little evidence. so you could be the best abortionist in town, but how do i tell you that your services are no longer required?
fear of exposure and unexplained metaphors. haunted by voices until last monday i nearly gave the whole game away. there is a hunger/not in my guts/but in my soul/and substance abuse/doesn't cut it anymore/and cutting it... so you could be the best psychiatrist in town but how do i tell you i want to be in the front seat when the accident happens?
so with wet expectations i unbelieve my body and focus on the moments when i am perfection in the company of others, slowly learning to seize more moments. and i will make my heart the moon, fill it with dreams of a better life and resolve to trace my pirate roots. so you could be the best meteorologist in town but how can i tell you that it's all just gypsy fortune telling?
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