
Your own


∆ Neural Alchemist | Self-mythologist ∆

I miss being comfortable in my body. Every mourning I wake to discomfort and nausea that can last hours.
I miss wine. I miss being able to eat and not eat whenever as I pleased. This baby is taking away my freedom. I am a slave to my baby.
By choice with trust of course though.
It’s now
It’s the end
Old friends
Oh Lord


Bless I am on finger spawn
Electric trenches bathing my cervical
Back and fold I’m a circus; locomotive
Freedom brings Casanova, baby mothers, and virgin wings
Spirals of the world most foul
Dancing wolves who often howl
Woman body don’t give a fuck about that shit
Young self holds the messenger
Hidden burdens are turned to birds and
We learn to hold our sticks and stones and
We fold to break our own arms leading the way to pave
Make ends meet with woman’s meat
What a dog that eats dog girls
Woman’s bodies don’t give a fuck about rocking a foreign world
Key whispers from chosen Gods in dress