YersiniaPestis

Be honest. Lungs speak truth, it is the heart that lies. Fingers scratch, but the real weapon is behind the eyes. Deceive the best. Scream. You can't hide a scream. Precision, you say, is the key to success. My success comes from buttoned up relationships, worn out by sea, sea sick, sick of the constant struggle, struggle against the needle. I fucking hate needles. Don't inject, just build. Keep the finger on the trigger. But never pull. Never crossfire. Never fire. Fire me. Fire these gutted feelings of contortionist dreams. Flip me. Flip this blender made mind into strategized war. Fix me. Fix these beat up, bruised