Andreas, you fell the second you flew, isolation detached you from this dimension walking in a body that has dissociated completely you made a wish to transcend but now you cannot be in the flesh

I grapple with homicidal rage every day towards the monster who killed my mother, My Mother, denial and despair towards my mother, my unbeknownst ender

Very serious. So deep. Super intense. Shhhh, not camp, not camp! Camp is not wise! Camp is not serious!

I like F. i like the way it makes my friends shudder after they receive back that paper, 2 amputated arms growing out of a bold line to mark their failure, whatever that means. even unkind D is preferred, though it's doubtful and dull, and comes after C, a carnivorous vein that bears the mark of cain but still yet not quite as foreboding as F The most cancerous of all, the vowel fills the deflating leather of a soundless couch in humid weather, sinking into sour-scented sheepskin that seeps into the sound-shells of your skull before it's spoiled, when the skin still sticks to your skull, that is fff mimicking the sound of you thus sinking into your seat upon freight, F marks failure, it says "you are fragile," makes you think you are a vase the second before it breaks To be false, or to eventually fall? this poem failed fuck.

i love you. do you love me? i do. do you love me? i do. say it again, please. i love you. no, like, i just want to make sure—do you? i do. why are you crying? because you don't love me. but i love you. nobody loves me. i love you so very much. i am alone. no, you're not. who do i have then? you have me. nobody. are you fu-