ebola virus and the children of lipstick

sick
sick still
not a voice or a touch
just that vomit in the throat that itches to spew forth and destroy the pretty floral patterns that adorn your little lives
sick
sick still
i feel like stabbing the soul of reality and dying
lying down in the mouth of you all
can i clean my teeth with shards of your broken bones
i decided to cut you all off
out of sight out of mind just a dead man who won't die
ghost don't need companions
aparitions walk alone
in preparation to paint the town red