your words are as empty as that gun you're pointing at me.
Monday, March 27, 2006
i am a carcass.

animals
in human skin
revealing only killers eyes...

by the time you notice
you're not shaking a human hand,
it
is
too
late.

devouring.
perfect machines
never reminiscing,
romanticizing.

feeding
sleeping
feeding

fat stomachs from
trapping their prey--
dangling savory dreams
of
perfect,
unconditional,
affection.

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