theres a ring of smoke on my pupils a dotted line on my throat made for cardboard cut out creations!
a few slut bag eye sockets bleed empty from too much rain and too much sun. it's a masterpiece reduction of self.
''let cher consciousness flowww into words on your internet maaan".
i did this but i don't know how, i'm crept into valley monasteries by the dozen, a veritable infestation of grime ball cities.
she's got eyes about sex and a mind about boys. roundabout moods and no ability to see the damage.
i am the vegetables you are the dessert.
damaged on the freeway:
like a deer fucked from behind by your bumper, sad and somewhat darkly retardedly amusing.
spazzing out on newspaper bedroom floors, where constellations and dirt smell like sex and mouths gushing with glory. you try me on at 7 and take me off at 7 oh 5.
you're breathing her neck:
you try me on at 7 and take me off at 7 oh 5.
you're breaking her neck:
sometimes i hate everything i say. sometimes i hate everything i say and every face i make to cover up the miss takes.
bird burglary, crackpots and shit for brains cackling wild like none other.
hit by cars. criss crossed up and down the avenue and then the eventual float to new york city highs.
baking bread for newlyweds and that crazy bug in the mixing bowl.
do you believe me do you believe me darling do you believe me
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