Edited Notes Pt. 2

a one-shot machine
getting you one shot closer
madness or rapture, who can tell
a difference, if one's there
sitting straight tween hangman and his chair.

electric pulse, can't take this elsewhere
shirt tucked at the waist
who pulled the arm for a taste
impersonable like a keyboard
aroma of a nightmare

screws in your head makes your day shred

the vein under my thumb
a fine force
resurrect you, face the droplets
crawl so drawl up your cheek

inhabit your skull
your pants are too short
your's a too-long fancy
fancy a touch or just a spider
your web is too leather