Tuesday, 23 February 2016
I Only Eat Air
Fuck it all, I said, as we danced slowly toward our death. I've been staggering on zombie-like for years, I'd relish the taste of being blind or deaf. At least that way I'd be excused from seeing or hearing any of your shit, or from hearing the infuriating wheeze as you unjustifiably draw breath. Cut my tongue out too and chisel off my finger tips (my nose can stay, for all it does is drips), that way I won't feel a thing, nor will I ever speak, for even I'm beginning to be nauseated by all the mentions of you my mouth so sickeningly leaks.