Echolalia I inhaled glue dust to mend my insides, nauseous and wrong, ailing and failing against my better intentions of knowing and understanding. I am stored in a sock drawer between cigarettes and cheap porn, bottom rung, squeezing my insides to better myself. Everything is transitory, I will not ail forever. I am in need of a warm heart and flesh pressed into my spine, my aura, chest rising and falling like ebbing of waves, caressing the needy shore before the jealous#moonhides herself from prying eyes. Caress me, oh ebbing waves, heart on heart and melting into me gently like echolalia.
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