My Bones Will Finally Get Their Cloak

Memories are walls desecrated by graffiti of remembrance well intentioned people all around and me playing that „warm rabbit“ game (take a guess who the rabbit is) it feels like I'm one of those happy faces on Kerouac's road I feel like an idiot it has to feel like that when you deliver a piece of self so other can step on it even though stepping on it was not intended but not knowing what to do with it they just step on it when mistake acquires a form of face leave some words unspoken – they taught me it is nicer to be humanly than fashionably conscious – they taught me so i just have a message for you: eat ****, you have devoured all of my cookies anyway so by academic degree babbitry of yours couldn't be washed – they failed when iron clew entangles in your chest oversleep it will go away it always does – they failed wrist is accustomed on postponement and I have forced expression for every urbanely pickled photography that whore karma laid down one nice slap on my cheek well on what is left of it **** ... man is it's evolution * warm rabbit was notorious practice in jail for political prisoners in Yugoslavia (Goli otok) where when a new prisoner came prison guards would forced prisoners to line up in two rows and new prisoner had to walk through and other prisoners were forced to beat him with any object available until prison guards said it's enough.