Half past the unlucky, and there’s a pebble in my shoe. Rollercoaster stomach. “You’re soft,” said Aural Glory. Knee jerks, and she became a guillotine. Decapitated pleasure, staring into another skull. Coward. If I splice thyself, you should have it all. Cleaning up remnants, laying on the softest hair. A moving violation... ...and the body that grows stems walks towards me. Rose peasant, your house is gone. You’re living in a black hole. Tie a rope around the ankle of something you shouldn’t let go, But symptoms toe the line. My personality is disturbing me. Flushed cheeks, and here I am, left. It’s no fun to see the bleeding, To hear your clarifying clues. Your face will come to me in a crowd. Thy dark and earnest eyes. Patience.