Postcards from Purgatory, 1

It's almost too much
Hiss of a held breath a punchline hit hard square on a locked jaw
No doors unlocked for a painted face work
Of art such as this
And we all know art is hard and art is ravished with damage
Should have stayed in the shallows indeed
Did meaning ever exist
Well did it ever

Ever did I love it
Did I pedestal and skyscrape towards rain clouds and
Did what I used to do transcend the word
Party, China doll she did not eyeroll
At my existentialist rants
Or my insatiable desire to break the nearest heart where

Where is a heart that beats to the tune of my internal comedown
 Sugared serpent lick as always
As ever I am embers dulling
The smoke the mirrors the middle finger
Kiss my culture you dumb fuck
Hey it's ok to
Fragment the death sentences

To slink in a state of forever he who shall not be named

Once wrote, strung out and strung along 

Jacks hard drive indeed what the fuck kind of dream catcher was that

The bones and the bugs and the forever feeling

Of swallowing hair wish I could squeeze a tear out of my tetanus face 

This is awful ever have I flatlined sidewalks splattered with vomit disco

How do they do it the beige the bland the hip bones connected to the 

Ether and something expanded when it stopped I shone

I grope for a similar skeleton, and internal mess also on fire

Also laughing like mad and there is a serious lack

Of sleepless nights these days I was a fucking rock star 

No pun intended in the end it's all bullshit

Or was that the beginning [British accent]

I'm not dead I'm not!

I'm getting betta!