To Breathe.

Object of desirethe game starts witha thing to make rightone of the few animalistic to satisfy

for some of uswe transcend the desireit becomes the ink

ink we makeusing the words of the flow in our bloodthe path they followpassing through our veinsusing the symbolic itself

as the weapon against fairly known hypocrisy

what is realis not every moment

every moment we create were once

once inscribed on the eyes of itthe symbolic

elapsing the paradoxality

it's everything I ameverything until my final silencebefore I witherbecome not a rosebut a thorn

how do I do

existwhat is the originsof my orgasmic persistence

devotion to & withindissolving the giventurning it into the supposedly

ashing it

aching

aching with congestionnever with an unpaid prize

greatest ethereal insatiablityall that this world can give& fuel from

murdering

murdering the subjective entity

becoming one

A singular everythingwe areas we constantly turn to our ashesto have a longlostalization

as that is the only realmour orgasmicsufferential pagesare understood

that is the only dimensionmy languages are spoken & known

I leave the subjectivityto breathe

To breathe to & withinthe origins I were ashed tounspoken truths I dive fiercelinto

to speak them in the middle of aneye wink

the silent heartbeatwe hear but never attend

unappreciating its gifted silence

undecided

liberately transforming

transforming into aggressional originated symbolisance

this is the feelingJouissance

I need

To Breathe.