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Monday.
the day of the moon.
My moon is in sagitarrius. it is in the 12 house. It is out of bounds.
some astrologers gasp.
me? I just misspell.
and I went to that miramar place to have oysters to spite you and Aphrodite... fuck.
The Beweley brothers by David bowie is fading out.
I have fucking spewed more words at you when I promised myself I would not debase myself by giving you another fucking syllable.
ah janus.
the two headed god.
you are my totem.
I've somehow done that lie that every douche does... given myself a deadline for my pain. "I'll diet after I have this thirty-fourth eclair."
I'll try anything.
I'll try anything to get you to say (...stay)
"bitch. chill Chile. it was kind of fun. you were a splendid companion sometimes. it's done. Byesie!".
and I look at my face.
it's a fucking mathematical
piece of art.
I got spit out of a reluctant vagina with it.
but you never loved it. you never liked it.
you never complimented it.
I type like a douchebag.
it's for nothing.
I saw
I see
I've got to stick you in that reed basket and push you on down the nile
but I'd rather you tell me goodbye (hell0)
fuck you
coward
like
them
all
(I was shocked you were one 2)
and so it goes...
yew fuckers
and I swear Aries.... you fucking
fucking
fucking kill me every time.
just saying.
I saw you.
you could have been
...
I won't tell you.
ha
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