measuring with feet my empty room. trying to remember my dead dog. with sight poisoned to aim in own dreams. leaving on a dark mirror my eyes. breaking off ears with voices of past. on fingers, dirty till an elbow, the shade falls.
how many different in life was: illness, death, people … it was terrible … now, it is sick how never will be. even pain – not a word for it … that not a pain, that emptiness without sense … sense to live … to breathe … even in a head no thought … no sparks …
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collaboration work with skinpistol picture made by him. model and post process - me.
"Whose side are you on?" Said the spider to the bird "Do we creep up on him as he sleeps And string him up in my web? Or do we swoop down and blast him With your black and white slime bomb? Trouble is I can't fly. And my seventh leg is there to keep me symetrical." And the surley bird opened his big beak and swallowed the spider whole Seventh leg included. He was a bird-eating spider in disguise What a surprise