Nonchalant irritation mounts the continuum today, tomorrow, and possibly the day after that. I wait for your aura to embrace my tampered ways. Disgusted by my flaws and flows, the progression of tomorrow seems unlikely. Anais Nin stares back at me progressively, beckoning me. Do you see the starry-eyed freaks press gently upon my buttons? Their eyes ablaze, mouths like crimson, breath reeks of destruction, my mind, like molasses, no match for their deviance. Wish the cognitive thoughts would attach, feverishly, like melancholy catalysts. They breed in me-those melancholies. Doris Day, Gwenyth Paltrow-all the same-mannequins with a life force. Illusions about my self-respect disintegrate, dictate my senses. Throbbing in my head has come to stay, come to play with my sanity again. Lack of sleep, lack of eat, your lack of respect for me. You know some brothers is always fuckin with my head. Tellin me to stay beautiful just to get me inta bed. Can't distinguish the truth in your shit talkin. Don't want to end up in your vocabulary's broom closet.
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