Dirty shirt, sullied breathing. You just go on and get out of here. And then embrace
mortal, how sickening. Make a run-test modern savage out of yourself. See if they can
stomach the statements or if they squirm and look at the ground or fold their arms. They
have more than two arms over there. I’m taking my fingernails off nervously. You are
as real as a standard can be, only demonstrable through placidity. I would have
prevented your witness, bait.
by Erika Staiti
published in Shampoo 32