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(american psycho.)
the secret is, is that i’m the real american psycho. i’m rusting to my bones in what seems to be a severely dilapidated version of god’s limbo. breathless. alice’s rabbits run the town with time-bombs in their paws, tucking them carefully away into my every nook and cranny, and i’m patiently twiddling my fingers though i have a keyhole on my neck.
(and even so, even so - the ivory irony is that my white lips speak no more truth.)
