Limbo,

     The Game, a part of Hell.  I see we're all waiting, doing the routines spastically i keep spitefully not doing in the right order.
It freckles and blushes me for the face of my master.  I'm not sure what is the master of this world, I mean I don't want to admit.

    The delights I feel are halfway familiar, I'm half of an idea myself.  Am I a delight?  One other half is a delight in me he is unfinished and we wait now to see us, we wait in this place thinking about

    When he came to me first a second away, forever ago in a cloud.  I was flying that day, then metamorphosis hit second phase.  Never been kissed in the rain that day but the sky sure was wet like consumption.

  And sooner than you know you cry and clocks break out at you.  but the things are the same except not in the rain in the air in the drain the loudness of his brain beating "Be dry my shaking love while the stench in the street is a mustache-drowned house with flickering exposing pictures of tracking polishing primping pimping you"

It freckles more on my shoulders.  I wait not well again.  For better or worse I wonder insider of a ectoplasm capsule why how and numbers.. Detergents and supplies for cleaning trash.  I have the room with the flies that follow him to show us the stinky rainbow horizon view.  He lost me before in hypnotic terrain that drains planes and sound like a door at night the visitor needing more than your body and labor or soul but

We both have living nightmares undad vampires suckling back to mother in the only beautiful daughters.  That's how he could see when he drained me, friendly boy trying with nothing to do.

Pillow at night a wake for me in the morning to see you