Besedila:
Ninety Pound Wuss Short Hand Operation

short hand operation. my body lays exposed on the operating table. one blind eye pulled from the stems. the other frantically recalls memories like news

we all call for change. it becomes automatic. your wasting my time by apologizing. i've come to expect this little from you. it all ends in tears anyway

did you see it? could you sense the tension? thickness was building, yet for a surprise crimson starlight. your chanting my curse. it's a lovesick dead

on and on. listening to the echoes remaining. i hear your voice inside my head. now i know that we've just begun. again i reach out my hands to you. staring

she's spilling orange and sun and chasing it again. she beat her own self. she called a bluff on spider bite. i was this close, just three years shy

eyes looking through me. some curvature. i don't know. dining the black mine. a night could only rectify doubt. the newest form, like cherry red. black

sound mockery regaining speed, transfixed on absolution. attempting to overthrow through blind manipulation. a picture perfect memory so real. surveillance

gurgling, gasping for air. i need the breath of life. the breath of life. the breath of life. i am weak from the fight and i can still hear them celebrating