Torn up bedsheet, wires underneath like a thong string. Wears it uncomfortably, itchy mattress, itchy shoulders, smouldering at a vision of self harm from earlier. Turning to scratch it, hits the searing, welt skin, having some kind of tantrum – groans incessantly, disturbingly, rolls back – sinusoidal temperance. One cannot sleep.

Later, out for cigarettes,

I saw from the 3/4 position her lips purse as she turned as though through them I could read her mind reciting when she had served me last
Tuesday marking exactly a week which totals to just under 3 a day (if we’re to believe in dispersive uniformity) for this one’s little habit, ha
She wished me a nice evening

“Music stands
15 pahnd”!
(screams from behind some glass)

Ahh beautiful red winged butterfly pinned to each corner of my maxilla
Its torso straddles my nose ridge
Brittle chitin one could tear with just a finger

And I go digging into my face for stimulation
Clipping the poor creature
We ponder eachother for a minute
How hedonism can unravel
Everything preceded

Both feeling beastly between mind & figure,
nails & veining

Ahh beautifully imbrued butterfly
Sailing over my maxilla
Trailed by smoke exhalings