photography by PWL
(It began when her thoughts started to smell like dried butter.) She...
She slept.
She awoke in a violent orgasm of disgust.
She walked over to the stinky pot of fresh potatoes.
Took a bite. Bitter tongue lashed violently in return. Turned around.
She sat in the lips of the senile couch. She licked her paws.
to the right. To the left. All is well.
She smiled.
She loaded the room with cigarette odour.
She took a bite of death.
Turned to the mouth of the dumb box.
Let it live, for a few moments at least, let it die out with screams of emulsion.
She exposed her neud neck to the eyes of the world.
She slept.
She woke in an aroma of sweat and sex.
She smiled.
She looked at herself. In the mirror, objects are closer than they appear.
In the mirror.
She smiled.
She bathed in dry sand. She eyed the pretentious electronic demon, sulking on her desk, flashing signs of pity towards it’s yellowing owner.
She burnt her face watching the solar eclipse.
She sighed.
She slept.
She sighed, again.
She woke again, in grey silence.
It’s cold outside.
Scream.
Freeze.
Drown.
Go get your mittens.
London bridge will surely fall.
She sighed.
She slept.
She slept.
She...