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Description
the hunt in reverse
Current mood: argumentative

oh so cyincal, spitting flints and sparks from grinding your teeth at night and waking up in a soggy halo of bile, turning over the pillow to turn the other cheek that's just bare bones. absolutely nothing there to fall back on but those little messages that only show up when the split and cloven hoof mirrors steam over, go ahead and blow that choke smoke over it, like Narcissus in his looking glass mass expanse of cloud tears, drown yourself in the murk tar pits of your pools while Echo pines away, it'd suffice to be be the echo in your hollow drum belly. You'd need only to beat upon yourself, taut skin stretched like a saddle on that beast of burden. Speaking of which, have you fed her today? those ribs like lyric talking fingers reaching for the keys are far too apparent. have you groomed that flaxen coat? infested and tangled and sullied mud upon mud lacking the gleaming praise like stones in your mouth that fell upon deaf ears, felt but most certainly not heard. so darling doe, I'm sick of all this, please swallow those stones force them past the ground down molars down the vulnerable pinkpink throat till they roll around in your gut, weighing you hellwards, drag your heels in the dust and moon silvered leaves along with the dignity that was trampled by the morning chariot at birth, up in flames, pity. go see if Artemis has an arrow to spare, she wouldn't refuse those deer eyes.

Description
the hunt in reverse
Current mood: argumentative

oh so cyincal, spitting flints and sparks from grinding your teeth at night and waking up in a soggy halo of bile, turning over the pillow to turn the other cheek that's just bare bones. absolutely nothing there to fall back on but those little messages that only show up when the split and cloven hoof mirrors steam over, go ahead and blow that choke smoke over it, like Narcissus in his looking glass mass expanse of cloud tears, drown yourself in the murk tar pits of your pools while Echo pines away, it'd suffice to be be the echo in your hollow drum belly. You'd need only to beat upon yourself, taut skin stretched like a saddle on that beast of burden. Speaking of which, have you fed her today? those ribs like lyric talking fingers reaching for the keys are far too apparent. have you groomed that flaxen coat? infested and tangled and sullied mud upon mud lacking the gleaming praise like stones in your mouth that fell upon deaf ears, felt but most certainly not heard. so darling doe, I'm sick of all this, please swallow those stones force them past the ground down molars down the vulnerable pinkpink throat till they roll around in your gut, weighing you hellwards, drag your heels in the dust and moon silvered leaves along with the dignity that was trampled by the morning chariot at birth, up in flames, pity. go see if Artemis has an arrow to spare, she wouldn't refuse those deer eyes.