You would bleed mentally, axis by axis to know my aching cheeks and lips. they do not flutter, engulfed in smokes my mouth, volatile and dark i am a pattern of transition disgusted each day, separation of tongues divides these breasts once supple, i am a sliced burning moon only diced further, till i dismantle my nerves. I will die a walnut death— with cracks and dust flooding my brain.
P.S-I did not take care of punctuations, deliberately because i was too lazy to do it. And i do not care!