AngelHolly

headlights illuminating the head lice running through your corpse's scalp; engine smoke and car exhaust start marathons through your corpse's lungs, forgetting how you got here; the locusts are not afraid of what you would have to say, your throat is home like as they scatter throughout what used to be you-- all that's left is a body, no longer a person: we just familiarize people for bodies and we hate our bodies anyways so why should we think about them anyways anyways i hope the schizophrenia stays with your corpse and not with you you know that the ghosts are your family now, the highway is your home and it just leaves my heart in my