Scarlet Rouge

Salted Space-Time

scatter your salt in your spellwound, matter the most, matter is madness in forms, matthew’s my friend (he went), i don’t know no matthew, like i said, he went, better scatter some lies, they lie then somewhere to stumble upon, humble & fond, like salt on the transparent skin of a soup, matter is fat, less in wormholes of space-time, space is the face of the scattered, but blushed, time is the rhyme from its lips, it’s body’s left hand’s name is matthew, it won’t show him, since matthew is sick & wired & scattered in fingers that play with your salt, that tremble and stumble and burn in the soup of your sickness, your sickness that matters most as host for the fat of your lies


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