quasi_sean

the letters to imaginary fans

Please stop these choices & voices are haunting me guilty as I'm locked forever in what only I know as I smoke my cigarettes one after another, wish someone would just stop (shoot) me & the evening would explode into the shower like an orgasm wasted--

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All practice was avoided, take shallow breaths & love the wind like a sailor. I hope I'm ready for this, my brakes seem faulty & the heat is intense--

This is a bad dream already, I can tell--nobody asks to be vomited out--spit out--whatever...at least I'm not in the colon.

And as I'm sliding down the tongue & the mouth opens...MOTHER OF 12 BASTARDS! How fucking high up am I? Oh Gawsh...intense fear of hites...intense fear of hites...*sobbing*maybe I'd prefer to be pooped out...lower to the ground at least.

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Scrape off some of your fragrance for me to hold in my eyes till they burn brightly...mmm...so brightly...