Queen of Kingland

I live alone in a castle on a hill. Outside is cold and empty. I am the queen of kingland.

Three slick lines. Three slick squares.

Shadowy blood hair slicked back on a luminescent opal dome.

Simple brain sailing through sludge picking apart rooster crows turning filth into love

Full hand, marbles flowing, full schedule,
apartment groans and hums with reclaimed sleep and sun

Her retold life fits exactly in my distorted mouth

Eye nerve soaks up the radiation of excited atoms, the distance of time is complete

I am having a party.

I fill the prescriptions for a having a fun day.

I gather the bodies and organize the ideas of sensible activities.

I prioritize the good feelings and hide all the fear.

I praise and worship the fake perfected who I will myself to believe in once I will them to exist.

Young pale women talk and words bounce back and forth.
Growth inside of growth inside of shriveling

Bright redness birthsays, engorged cavity, slick organ system, pulsing viceral expulsion

Blaah!

That is my business. I convince that the opposite taste is the best that no money can buy.