Yes I Try To Kill Myself In

I Have A Black Look I Do Not Like. It Is A Mask I Try On. I Migrate Toward It And Its Frog Sits On My Lips And Defecates.

I Rot On The Wall, My Own Dorian Gray.

God Is Only Mocked By Believers.

I Brush My Hair, Waiting In The Pain Machine For My Bones To Get Hard, For The Soft, Soft Bones That Were Laid Apart And Were Screwed Together. They Will Knit. And The Other Corpse, The Fractured Heart, I Feed It Piecemeal, Little Chalice. I'm Good To It.

The Day Of Fire Is Coming, The Thrush Will Fly Ablaze Like A Little Sky Rocket.