stab and stab and stab at my seeming with your point of existance--you'll likely not touch me at all. obsessed by the rhythm of breathing, of beating, of absorbing, of wanting to take it all in and fill up all the emptiness and satiate the spaces--to fill it all the way up just to let it pour, and pour, and pour right out: to seep out the unsatisfied spaces and feel in the desensitized spaces. wanna just take, and take, and take, and take, and take, and take, and take until it's all, it's everything inside just to let it pour streaming back out of and into the spaces. to pull until i'm tangible and to push until i'm ethereal.