Observationit smelled of oats. then dip spit. later turning sour, transforming to void stagnant tears that sat like asphalt on eyes. its final state. a puddle of cat piss on a hibachi grill at a birthday. our nostrils drank. lapping it to satisfy tradition. to fuel the rise and fall.
processing rot.
our eyes spilled oil into a polluted river and inherited the vacancy they craved. unable to discern dream from burden. salvation in flatulence.
hollow worship.
holes were filled. the stench sometimes resembled a savior.0.1639%
