… a depressive writes about the future and everyone laughs at it. I am dead because I am stupid. Here my lip, here my head. Pull one to swallow the other, to get it just right. Precisely where value is ascribed is bitter coldness. Chest framework analogues a passé impasse. If I were not impaled by the ongoing urge to get it out, I would have liked to share with you more about the experience of straying from one text to the next sext.

No, the real drive is trying to get it just right. Literally.

Engorged breasts sway a brain or two.

It’s disgusting. By the authority infected in me,

I pronounce it …