Undocumented Notes On the Aftermath of a Suicide

Backward word exceptions for me from mothers cold lipless tongue drips lies, White and stagnation void of a life.- Is nothing sacred mother? My mother? Is nothing pure? Even babies defecate and are never clean anymore. I fail--as she fell. But two eyes are better than three and doesn’t allow such and such’s brain to bleed. She had her head on the floor but she had her eye on me. Lips soft as a kiss and open for guests but no feelings there was no life there nothing intermission to flatten the flowers and lost. Further expeditions into my fragile fragmented psyche leads one to a temporary understanding of life through the perspective of one afraid of conformity yet change yet being identified as a same the same-ness is a blow to the ego center bordering on ego death but only by a completely Egotistico way you and you and you and me I you and we our seasons the moment we are zero: a free radical