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The Hollowed out Chest of a Dead Horse

Page Ninety Nine

I've seen you sitting in your bed, in your brown gown of dead flowers and in your room, in it's corners where spiders crawl, and a sour dream centipede slips under your mattress until it's time, oh, oh, gimme that back, I want my back, back.

Oh your beauty, let it rot, let it rot, let it fucking rot. L
ie down now...
if you please darling, so I can do our world a service, dream, dream, and dream.

She looks right down through me, I can make out her shape. Her silhouettes false, legs crossed, eyes black, spilling on me.