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opiatedmorphia's Journal

This journal may contain adult concepts.

Created on 2006-07-24 00:22:19 (#10738153), last updated 2009-11-24

484 comments received, 835 comments posted

Basic Info
Name:honey, your reputation is shit in this town
Birthdate:1981
Bio
I've been described as a silly comrade with a fast-talking trucker mouth.


title




"It seems to me as though you enjoy this sickness," she says, leaning back in the brown leather chair and crossing her legs to reveal just another character flaw; mismatched socks. Which bothers me.


"Perhaps," I answer nonchalantly, delicately peeling back the outer layer of my fingernail to reveal the raw flesh underneath.
Perhaps.


I like how death tastes. I like it baked, or broiled, or steamed. Sometimes I like it stuffed with aspirin. Or laced with heroin. Death is an acquired taste, the poignant scent of fear combined with a sprinkling of peaceful insanity. Some days I like it sharp, steel teeth combing into the soft flesh of skin to leave a friendly afterglow. And other days I like it neat, arranged in colors and shapes near the phone with 911 on speed dial. I never eat all of my death, I like to save a bit for later. Later never comes though, for you see, I cannot hold my breath forever. This body of mine, it breathes the afterglow of fine lines and points of no return.
I've got a love affair with madness, or is it that madness has a love affair.









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I have a few secrets.








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