[dull boy]

When I practice parts, no acting's done. I tap in to facets like avatars. I capture what encapsulates imagined states of self reflective developed head trips. I delegate the telling. Wait for selling's sake. I dwell in essence. Melt. Undressing. My cells assessing where shells will break. Hell's a taste I relish. Same goes for pathos. I blame hope.

I bleed rust through self inflected hugs against hell's indifferent love. I felt sadistic belting whispers out. I never felt intended. My shell's impending doubt drown in bells and whistles. Shout; the devil's listening now. You failed at living. How? Stale existence. Drown in the wells you're wishing down.