Discovered this poem.
Scrawled in felt tip pen.
Upon the middle section of my toilet roll, as I was taking a shit.
LIFE JACKET by Den Ghostliven.
Keeps you afloat. It’s got pockets. For fingers. And other things.
No shirking your birth shirt, but it’s too much, the torment of what I’m not. A barrier, holding me in.
I’m deserting. Destroying my uniform, fleeing this skin regiment.
My last words, tattooed. One raw prayer.
A final appeal.
He's back. And it seems he knows all about my obsession with MANHUNTER. But how on Earth did he manage to get the words there?
Did he plant it at the supermarket?
Jesus Christ, has he been in my house?
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