Solitude has taught me nothing but my own incessant need to entertain. I do not remember a time where I did not cater to my own hedonistic self. I am a stock broker at Schwab and I need stimulation! I want & I scrape & I groan & I languish; tickle my fancy and watch me bloom! Feel the great disconnect between the obstacle and the chamber. I must wave my slips in the air frantically, and pay the scoreboard my dues. Teeth rattling, bones settling into place, carnal tendencies towards the Ideal. Mime submission & tell him he is not shallow. A crucifix hangs over my Plender gap, the bottom edge tickling the space between morals and regulation. My route to Industrial Young-Girl has lead me to the motherland and I will not wrinkle under intense eyes. What an idiot, dying for the world to use your name in vain. Narcissus looked into the puddle and saw the Messiah, and now we must pay for a dead man’s admiration. Alienation by contagion, banality by self. A deep, red virtue scrambles to find a space amongst my envy, but the inn is full Virgin Mary! I suppose I will wander around bloody and virtuous for a little while longer.

St. Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle.
Be our defense against the wickedness
and snares of the Devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,
and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts,
by the power of God,
thrust into hell Satan,
and all the evil spirits,
who prowl about the world
seeking the ruin of soul
Amen.

All my gods are domesticated and all my prophets curl spines with grace. I existed out of range of the heretics for ages, and now that the echo chamber permeates every single trypophobic cell within, I am content. Gluttonous and full, you clamber to find satisfaction wherever your eye wanders. You have never mulled over your ability to be irreparably infantile. IRREPARABLE. I make my fingers into a comb, and then a fork, but you still will not sit at my table. Side wound on display and decency following not far behind, do you alone reason with the Weight of Calamity? Do you alone comprehend that I Do Not Understand The Curtains Over Your Eyes? Bile and salacious desire is consistent throughout that empty chasm you swear holds veins.

I am the patron saint of schoolgirls.