I found a three pronged twig. One prong was sliced short, a dangerous fork with a jagged rusty middle tine and so I snapped the fucking godless twig and then I snapped it again into disintegration and I threw it on the concrete and vomited all over the torn mess and I leaned back, surveying my work and I wished for anything I could feel that didn’t feel like walking backwards blind accumulating contusions brought about by smashing into hard, jagged metal signs, everything creating pain inimitable in my spine. I carry a bloody encrusted dagger wrapped in a bloody handkerchief in the left pocket of my shirt over my heart to protect myself but it never, ever, ever works.
Anything that wasn’t not a part of my schedule but wasn’t associated with my schedules’ ends – like flying down into a burning volcano in a wheelbarrow full of ice and hot pussy, me letting my hands drag dancing like spiders atop the volcanic rock on this inverted volcano even though my hands should have been soaking in the cold ice and the warm pussy in the big fuckin’ wheelbarrow and all this useless conjecture because I missed my only chance to fly down into a volcano in an icy, pussy bath cause I had to fuck it all up by letting my hands fly free and of course, what do you know? My hand gets stuck in some lava or some other viscous sap and my other arm got caught in a tree, simultaneously!