Panic ensues when my external stimuli trickle away.
black , . , void , . , closing my , eyes , and i feel the pressure adding up to alibis , two detectives
and a couple generations pleading at , God , yelling why , was the final choice , not preceded with a sign ,
hacked , . , noise , . , choking out , highs , even though i’m centered with a meditative shrine , i’ve elected
to renew the escalation till i’m blood- , -shot , vandalized , by who i appoint , to get me incentivized ,
, . i , swear , that i’m indeterminate , i don’t follow one profession i’m a burner flip , maybe i’m the
exorcism of a modern-day , tourniquet , . , leave a burglar tips , thank ’em for their services , . ,
, . skin , fair , from an inner-murder trip , to have psychopath complexion i revert to sick , when i hit re-
-set i type out letters on display , nourishin’ , . , darkness further in , hope to be a perk of grim , . ,
– D K T
