Ophelia is missing in a pile of nonsense syntax. |
SACRED There’s a hole in my stomach. The opposite of a mass. NEGATIVE SPACE With three Cross-stitching Of Leather Constantly tugging And Shifting. It’s cold in there, You see. Where as for you, I know it’s quite Warm. Because when I Orally Imbibe the Chalky Yellow Ovals That make my Jaw Lock and Jitter, I’m warm. The stitches are Removed and Digested. The hole filled. THEN, Sometime when I’m ASLEEP Or AWAKE Or ASPHYXIATING, SOMEONE Or SOMETHING Threads a Rusty Needle with NEW Leather, Pulls OPEN The Freshly CLOSED Wound and Loops the Needle THROUGH And THROUGH. Another Quick Fix Is Required. Where Oh Where Is Ophelia? Ooooh- Phhheeeellli- Ahhhh, Are you there? They made a sequel. Didn’t you hear? Nope. Because of the Water Bloating your Torso, All of Us Are DEAD EMPTY HOLES. OPPOSITES OF MASS OPPOSITION TO COMPLETITON. OPHELIA- REANIMATE! I Heard you said You’d watch me Paint, Create A Masterpiece. Oh, Ophelia, How many More Times Will your Precious Name Be used like a ripped condom In a meth lab? Infinitely? OF COURSE! For we all Know (Even the speed freaks) Just How Special IT And YOU Are. When Polonius Said, “THIS IS THE VERY ECSTACY OF LOVE, WHOSE VIOLENT PROPERTY FOREDOES ITSELF AND LEADS THE WILL TO DESPERATRE UNDERTAKINGS AS OFT AS ANY PASSIONS UNDER HEAVEN,” He was Right Ophelia. But, GOD DAMMIT, DOESN’T THAT SOUND LIKE PURE LOVE? I’D AGREE! Only since The cold OPEN Hole In My stomach Fills with Hell’s Fire, Moreso Near you, Ophelia, Than near Those Rotten Chalky Ovals. |