

The FutureThe FutureThe Future
Paunches on a sagging grey afternoon; The sweaty flap of man-boobs adrift Drown the grating rasp of slobbering thighs, A jowled cacophony of balding pointlessness Standing in con-conversational ignorance, With the undead carcasses of women Wrapped to cure in cheap sagging denim; Their shrieking poundshop chatter deafen The futile ears of their burger spawn Greasily flobbering from snack to snack.


Rebel and Bogey Morph 1-17OneRebel and Bogey Morph 1-17
In the corner of the nicotine stained pub, Rebel Morph nurses the last of his pint, cursing being in the gents when time was called. The Grace Kellys juke box blasts out a distorting mockery of music above his head as he wonders where Piglet and Bogey are this evening. Having a life he smiles to his near empty glass; stands, downs the last inch and sets foot into the chill night air. * Meet me on the corner, Bogeyd said. But that was the night shed sneezed on her jumper, and now as the lights were coming on, he began to doubt shed show. The


FogFogFog
Bells toll through the fog of this life Where like stars they once tinkled Illuminating the crystal dirt skipped
By light feet of joyous possibility
Now a film of nylon obscures vision Of these fields, lifes bright meadows Stretch forth misted as a condensation Clad bottle; Laughters keys long lost


The Crossing Keeper He stalks you as you wander through the entrance of the underground. You pay for your ticket, aware of him lurking over your shoulder. You try to ignore him, but this is an impossible task. You tell your best friend he is there, but your best friend can't see him, so he doesn't believe you. He remains to linger as you wait for your train. In your mind you feel you're going mad; he can't really be there, can he? You begin to question facts you know to be true, like there are no such things as ghosts. Are there? As you board the train, he cannot follow you, and you feel safe onceThe Crossing Keeper
are you there?
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The-Heart Club:[link]
Apophysis-->[link]
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I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it.
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the world is changed.
p.s. it's between you and me.
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