There's a voice that lives inside my head,
Shy from expression and interpretation,
That gives me right to sink inside of nothing.
Where I can be.
Where I can be a vast migration.
Forever, fleeting endorphins, stimulate the passing.
It's leaving. I'm leaving.
Thin membrane to scrape,
For excess building blocks;
for bleeding emotions;
I could melt and be fine,
Must breathe pine to feel alive.
All efforts circumvent the coming call to death.
supported by 124 fans who also own “Call To Death”
I'm recovering from an Ileostomy, having had my colon removed because of a m'fing tumor. I've got this stoma on my belly that I now excrete through into a fucking bag. Not happy. But Thou have put a smile on my face with this. Life's a bitch then you die. Best thing to do is make sure you've got a good soundtrack- and this is an amazing one moggydon