Never sloppy on influence I take one grain of sand make a million hourglasses, put them on my face and look out to the Nile, look out to the sea, down to the rocks
How long, how long?
Fevers amongst fairies and the seasons test my mortality. Simple pollen a tragedy hardly when compared to the toxic clean of labor. Smell the new, smell the hours dissipate. Fuck I’m going to die. But I can’t lie, that has at times seen like it was a sweet render of truth. Something has attacked me, broken down my guards and poked a bit at my inner truth. Not too bad if progression is the result but I feel an affront, a treachery.
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