Low

Just jealous gods and mechanical insects, (pathetic) hair raising accounts of the future. Thoughts of reflection and silence and infest, these meetings wont satisfy all my instincts Lowest of the lows && I cant rely on myself, enough is enough, spirits dust off the serpents. Cursed are we who bare this face of rotten gums and dirt filled teeth Born with a face of disgust and a head full of panic && on a losing streak and it doesn't seem worth it. The sickest part is that I fucking need this.