This is the third chapter in Smith's calamity. If you feel you have stumbled upon this page by accident, stay calm, and hit the back button very slowly...
This is the second chapter of the misanthropic adventures of a junkie named Smith (now reread that five times fast), titled: "Naked Hysteria in a Cum Lacquered Cell". If you haven't already read the first chapter, you can find it on my blog titled: "Sick and Longing for a Walgreen's Bathroom". DISCLAIMER: NOT FOR CHILDREN … Continue reading Naked Hysteria in a Cum Lacquered Cell
Hard, reaching fingers Scraping your surface- combing For lost granules ----Jonathan Renfield
What is happiness worth to one who only sees the subtle derision in every smile? Or in life- quick stolen moments, dulled by an artificial glow. What a brilliant play life sometimes dreams, in which the burden of being can be satiated with epiphanic measures- like plucking a single photon from the sunset. But here you are deceived- full … Continue reading Fickle
The earth is wet. Locked in thought as we trudge across this crimson landscape haunted by memories, and inundated with fleeting smiles (half grins polished over gaped mouths) Full of shit. Lost within the herd each individual appropriately labeled costumed, and socially binding- writhing against the tepid bravado of our worth. Instinctively anxious … Continue reading Abstract Diatribe
Indianapolis a once promising sight for freedom, industry, and corn. The fastest city in the western hemisphere- where men from all walks could aspire to drive in five hundred circles, chasing the emphatic roar of beer-blooded all-Americans. Another blur of high-rise industry overshadowing their investments Angry, cold, and poor. Window bars and reaching ivy tentacles choke derelict … Continue reading Five-Hundred Circles
Red is for the virgin horde, maple crimsoned New England