variations on a theme by christ:your mouth is an engine of genius.it opens w/ snakeskins of candy /n bach.your lip-balm pagesyour crybaby bridges/n the part of it that wants goes to pieces every time.

500 years /n another nail in the crosswhat's the difference anymoreif it rains

i asked him why he carried a flask."because the bottle pours too fucking slow

no one tells you rome is ending until you're the last one standing alone in a coliseum where a city had been.