Paul-Emile Boils, stories in response to our human limitations

The place where I can hide from the Rodents that have been hunting me for years.

I’m done lowering myself to those perplexing days.

In far to large stomachs fading deep into the sea.

My answer is not the truth, but one of constant desire.

with the deepest lesson, I strand within a whale.

When it falls, the world will be crying.

My tears are breaking like sculls by spears.

The fields manned by holes and craters.

The muse, Loud bangs, and silent gestures.

Harmony to my mental holes and all forgotten days.

Without searching or asking for them.

lust, holes, and hunger pangs

By the blood of another, one fills the holes.

Through the blood, one fills up the days.