Remember, surfer, thou are dust, it is the blight.Is that it ?
Since I´ve been sick in this head for so long I don´t see an overamount of inducement now. No. (- She delivered this, film over eyes, no inverted commas )
Then there was the day they caught her long telephoning with nobody at the other end. ( Terror is a little furry animal. )
Trap the scream, grist for your musical art.
As from a vast distant, the eyes. Cold. Someone come up and lift me.
I´d locked up the meat-carver. Let this chalice never pass. Stand by me now, O great self-love. Bridges burned, down the long road….
Her scream roared, ranted, her ululation a-rocking , her catatonic wail a chthonic keen.
Art comes from plumbing. Twenty seven years .
Molten lava, lads, bottle her…. ( I had to employ a food-taster. Had to. )
Well, the eyes´ cold filmed fear had to snap.
The terminal sprawl as her electrolytes just snapped like that. Furry, foetid finis.