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It's been considered at length: I. Self-Alchemy, II. Lactation, III. Aesthetics, IV. Protection, V. Anti-Procedure, VI. Tenderness, VII. Violence, VIII. Spite of God, IX. Teachtairí Nua, X. Féin. At length or at odds, at odds, at odds, against odds, I've placed my bets. I am ready to win. Fell on the final hurdle, kept running like I didn't. Frail limbs pounding into soil, let clay exalt me. I've gone to sleep. Resting external to the self - I look in horror and admiration at my physical beauty, repulsion and arousal at my eidetic vessel. I find my puddle and gaze. Tree branches twisted, blood pressure soars. Taunted by migraine aura, veins in eyes visible. Veins In Eyes Visible. Wheel realised and turns. Keeps turning. Eyes turning. Heads turning. I cannot stand you, god I cannot stand you. I remain ready to win. I could take it all right here. Buried, preserved, discovered, displayed, only for heads turning. Clay beckons crowd. Eyes still visible in view, veins still in eyes visible. Form severed waist down, umbilical cord cut, vessel from host now drifts. House unfurnished, available to rent in your area. Three times your income. Income incriminates. It's all business casual to me baby; It's serious business. I told you it's been considered. Would you trust me to tell a lie? Let's synergise until we are both face down in a pool of our own blood, frail limbs pounding into - It's funny in reference to itself. Itself referential to limbs, so so so frail. Veins in eyes frail and burst. Oh well.

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