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It is important to begin when everything is already over… There were worse jokes his blood might have played on him. Its message might have read: All beginnings imply an apocalypse… He awoke the next morning tangled in first lines like wrinkled sheets.
“So, her secret. What’s her secret? She shapes you so special, like you’re the answer, the only one who could ever know it, who could hold it in the chest of the self. The only self that mattered, the self she cuts you into. I say yes tell me, I come closer, I feel her warmth on me: The endless sea of mouth, the lining of the lip which shapes her a physical self despite the woodenishness you could not detect unless it warped you, which it would, if you were near enough.”
Lisa Marie Basile | Nympholepsy