Macaroni

"I'm a shark I'm a shark suck my dick I'm a shark" blah blah blah et cetera.
My oatmeal is laced with ketamines and my head is seventeen sizes too large for my ego.
I should stop this STOP this but instead, I'll drink my iron water with dented teeth.
I'll do my dearest chore with a cannibalistic beak.
"He is very cute"
"He is very single"
"HE IS VERY DEAD"

Got a new line every day on my face got a new note every day on my arm got a nice smile every day for a stranger and well, I quit smoking cigarettes because they could give me cancer.
I'll start again in a few weeks, but it's nice to break free of primordial addiction and advertising for a moment.

My dreams have been more violent than any sick twisted flick you can shove at me. I've seen fantastic valleys and terrifying fields of ice and blood. Island campus, mountaintop social scene. Telling imaginary girls who are trying to rape me that my forearms do indeed have a history with cigarette embers and she chimes in, "Yes, I can validate that. He's telling the truth."

Now I'm on the train tracks and there's a cliff to my left and the ground seems way too slanted for a train to round the bend without falling but it does and I'm shaking for a foothold in the prepubescent dirt.