Saturday, June 6, 2009
The shit is oozing right through the walls of my cell. Depravity of the basest essence has taken form, and it seems as though I might drown in this embrace if I should surrender. Oh well. Smoke 'em if you've got 'em. But then I realize that the walls of my cell are actually made from this shit. And so is the ceiling. And so is the floor. And so am I.