I have given up the intellect, the trying mad times of the morning sent and kafka
fucking me carefully over my mouth. I never read his
diary. I have read nothing — I spin my mouth open carefully into the long reeds of
morning, I am sitting in last summer with bananas and honey and the current manga
carefully loaded with the bad connection. only reading that. do you still like anime
boys? yeah, are you still an asshole with a low IQ? at that he point he laughs and looks away
and our tv-romance commences. it is all female gaze, he pulls off his shirt and I
eat him alive.
poem: guilt
the last pavilion 