A Rich Inner Life
From The Pussy
Try to remember the dead can’t hear your thoughts. Try to remember there’s no hell. If there is, you’re not going there for writing on even numbered lines in a notebook. Your mother won’t get in a car crash with her face on fire because you didn’t climb stairs properly. All people must suffer like this. They just don’t talk about it. Most able to put it aside. No one goes through the day having normal thoughts. No thoughts at all. Minds just blank drywall. Everyone grew up picturing swarming heaps of black crustaceans. Centipedes under the table waiting for the edge of a finger to brush them so they can latch on. Crawl up your arms. Armored mandibles strip your flesh down. Not to kill you. Just taking skin so your face looks burned forever. Unimaginable pain over every part of you forever. Everyone thinks this constantly. Or is it just you. Anyway good morning.