Rotting Together

I wish to find myself an old hag within your hand. Mending youth with age and memory with life. Together, reminiscing the silent fall of ashes and the dust where others fell. The little coffee cup we filled with various liquids, both hot and cold. Combine. Overflow. Hurt with comfort, excite and suspend. I never wanted healthy gorging, but filthy, rotten and bad is how I want it.This should be the waking point of our nebulous birth. Out of muck, life creating. Beauty within environments of vast inconsistancy, A place where the ends of envelopes can never be licked, and time is caught in water bottles sold at $1.75 a piece. Nobody is buying, yet stock-markets rise. And forever, you stay with me.