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Ducky, Ducky corpse, poor Ducky, peachy keen till the roadrunner took it away. Hearts shaped in fuzz, I burned dead protein and saw nothing was left. Fly away fuzzy hearts on the wings of that roadrunner. I’ve got to rebuild my hands now. Beating them on the breast of a concrete vixen. POP! POP! The feeling is too loud. Crippled pressure collapses ridged sternums. A bloated epidermis covets hemorrhaging abstracts, unrecognizable depravity of definition. Almost useless. I’ve got to rebuild my hands. Forcibly unbreakable, arthritically grotesque, fired bubble hide of the sticky sort. Fuck my shoes. Stuck to this Iris, in the clutch of Horis, running isn’t possible. Bubble hide glass and it’s cool to the touch. Spare a cheek for the blackness of carbon in that sooty way it overwhelms you. My hands are too blue for the black to show the pain of a nail worn back, silica irritating that ever so tender spot. Gnaw off the finger tips from the last knuckle. Time flies when obscurity has got you by the throat. Solidified with my gecko on my shoulder. His whispers illustrate an escape. It’s time to move. Tazed by the thought . Reaction is a matter of will. 100,000 volts strain the strings along my chest. They look like hammers. Fingerless fists. Those figures disappeared, stuck between two seconds. BOOM! Pounds away the retinal blindness of the third adornment, Indigo. There is no pain when marrow implodes. Rugged, they’re not the hands of human inadequacy. They’re disciplined, hardened for the task at afoot. Peel back the obsidian crust, it won’t cut. A new science of energy passes through me. The beat is getting closer and I can taste the blood in my mouth. A frantic burst plunging my amebic hands into her dirtiness. Her soil soaked thighs steeped in my gut. Mole rat vision keeps me moving deep inside a mineral. Hot chills, the only feeling since the devil swallowed the sun, since I burned the fuzzy hearts, and trained these fists. Now existing as meteorites, the fists of a zombie XY combination. Open wide, it’s time to swallow, it’s what you’ve waited for. Heavy hematite on ruteal. A girthy heart to keep. Home | Browse | Search | Invite | Film | Mail | Blog | Favorites | Forum | Groups | Events | Videos | Music | Comedy | Classifieds