Hi modern talon,
I think you’re hot and I want to fuck you but I know it will hurt me. You are young in
maturity and wise in thought because you talk hard. You can pretend the way I do you
are similar to me as you are frightened oh god but that means nothing unless you show
me you’re not young. You are young. I wish I didn’t think you were a talon. You dip
your pen into attempt (it is always partly that, in dipping). Out of it you find a mess of
ambiguity. As it comes out right you see. Right like the mess that it is. Sticky and wet.
Dirty shirt, sullied breathing. You just go on and get out of here. And then embrace
mortal, how sickening. Make a run-test modern savage out of yourself. See if they can
stomach the statements or if they squirm and look at the ground or fold their arms. They
have more than two arms over there. I’m taking my fingernails off nervously. You are
as real as a standard can be, only demonstrable through placidity. I would have
prevented your witness, bait.