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wondering about swallowing lysol in cute plastic shot        this morning i saw a gum print handbag, finger ***** tease, so those are the prayers you save for your knees. i know, it's terrifying; and the thought of ******* makes          you tired. it makes me tired. we pretended to love          for protection from this. head against the seat closer next to kiss. you smiled but i thought about so much time              les vacances and the dirtier brooklyn romps     through teeth, "no, i don't know the nyc scene"      and then, off! we were headed for each word of love.   everything went out as day, we remained in there. the tall      glasses of milk and the shaky hands. how nice the breeze      to slap my cheek in a summer pop **** the one where i'm      already on fours while the elevator door, closing; down in his head as though walking on madison. i pick off the beauty marks from the mouths of mean angels (/ the angle of your body makes me soaked through and warm.         duck and stay with me, even if you promise to wait. you were smiling at "sounds like you," the screen and the taxi horn    scraping in the ****** of a thunderstorm. and me and you and jesus,   all pries of lips and teeth. solemnly striking mary as he pleased, crawling surprised through the egyptian's dreams like he was made for it. like ancient honey centipedes. like you and like me        god got sure he made you angry. moving about his eyes he wrapped you up in that redwood chest and you crawled right through it. look at the hole you left! sound comes as well to thank you,                 in scopes of soft, strangled moans. the ones where i have         my tiny hand around your throat, and god rings his hands        in defeat because we ****** so ***** we made the world clean,     the **** finds its home where bacteria grows. bite 'til there's blood, if that's               what you want. our friends always tried to make martyrs      of us. "i want to know you," he says, but the mountains moan loud     on the ear hairs, those baby ones, that get tickled in the chicago wind or when you stick your tongue in and i like it.                 when a girl says get gone she means it; now rip off             your pretty pink lips i want them to bruise my **** i want          you to get off from it. but you want love fifth and twenty-second, legs less fervent less eager to bend         over the sink, in the shower, in your bed. so again with the play: read something about warmth .some thing warm like a body         like your body. some/thing like a brown powder                               and now it’s warm all over                         here i dip my pinky finger, here spread that on your           gums. baby, you look so good with a finger in your mouth.    i can take the coke drips and the starchy pain of paper cuts,    the first taste of blood and missing the last step, "just dope sick,    alright, **** off/"                  but the silence is so                                                             it's so                                             when i wild and bare teeth, it's dreaming                                   because i can handle the coke drips, the softer butter                        shards, real fine i can keep steady all handlebars                                 a little hype for ketamine like crazy eyes, hear you                   repeat to me for two hours one night, "your face! your face!"           and the men they apologize because "it's not mine" but the elbow       won't tear from the socket i'm eating my eyeball i'm shooting the   *** rockets all over manhattan. so what's it to hustle, when the        scene can't even bump it. i'm waiting to nod out to miles davis'            trumpet. tell me how the drug girl can find some one to keep up/ can one-up the crazy and puff the exhaust. i'm only looking for a partner in my disgust; so you and me and jesus should talk                 laugh over )a real one) "yes i love tequila,                                              darling you're a ***** meet me at the                                   bar, ill **** you at your own game ;)"         "oh you'll **** me ? ;)"                                             "yea i'd **** you, so what, i'd **** a lot of                                               people,"                                               Read 2:43 am         "..."                                                      "what are you typing"                                               Read 3:24 am
0
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
in love w texting and yogurt-covered pretzels
wondering about swallowing lysol in cute plastic shot        this morning i saw a gum print handbag, finger ***** tease, so those are the prayers you save for your knees. i know, it's terrifying; and the thought of ******* makes          you tired. it makes me tired. we pretended to love          for protection from this. head against the seat closer next to kiss. you smiled but i thought about so much time              les vacances and the dirtier brooklyn romps     through teeth, "no, i don't know the nyc scene"      and then, off! we were headed for each word of love.   everything went out as day, we remained in there. the tall      glasses of milk and the shaky hands. how nice the breeze      to slap my cheek in a summer pop **** the one where i'm      already on fours while the elevator door, closing; down in his head as though walking on madison. i pick off the beauty marks from the mouths of mean angels (/ the angle of your body makes me soaked through and warm.         duck and stay with me, even if you promise to wait. you were smiling at "sounds like you," the screen and the taxi horn    scraping in the ****** of a thunderstorm. and me and you and jesus,   all pries of lips and teeth. solemnly striking mary as he pleased, crawling surprised through the egyptian's dreams like he was made for it. like ancient honey centipedes. like you and like me        god got sure he made you angry. moving about his eyes he wrapped you up in that redwood chest and you crawled right through it. look at the hole you left! sound comes as well to thank you,                 in scopes of soft, strangled moans. the ones where i have         my tiny hand around your throat, and god rings his hands        in defeat because we ****** so ***** we made the world clean,     the **** finds its home where bacteria grows. bite 'til there's blood, if that's               what you want. our friends always tried to make martyrs      of us. "i want to know you," he says, but the mountains moan loud     on the ear hairs, those baby ones, that get tickled in the chicago wind or when you stick your tongue in and i like it.                 when a girl says get gone she means it; now rip off             your pretty pink lips i want them to bruise my **** i want          you to get off from it. but you want love fifth and twenty-second, legs less fervent less eager to bend         over the sink, in the shower, in your bed. so again with the play: read something about warmth .some thing warm like a body         like your body. some/thing like a brown powder                               and now it’s warm all over                         here i dip my pinky finger, here spread that on your           gums. baby, you look so good with a finger in your mouth.    i can take the coke drips and the starchy pain of paper cuts,    the first taste of blood and missing the last step, "just dope sick,    alright, **** off/"                  but the silence is so                                                             it's so                                             when i wild and bare teeth, it's dreaming                                   because i can handle the coke drips, the softer butter                        shards, real fine i can keep steady all handlebars                                 a little hype for ketamine like crazy eyes, hear you                   repeat to me for two hours one night, "your face! your face!"           and the men they apologize because "it's not mine" but the elbow       won't tear from the socket i'm eating my eyeball i'm shooting the   *** rockets all over manhattan. so what's it to hustle, when the        scene can't even bump it. i'm waiting to nod out to miles davis'            trumpet. tell me how the drug girl can find some one to keep up/ can one-up the crazy and puff the exhaust. i'm only looking for a partner in my disgust; so you and me and jesus should talk                 laugh over )a real one) "yes i love tequila,                                              darling you're a ***** meet me at the                                   bar, ill **** you at your own game ;)"         "oh you'll **** me ? ;)"                                             "yea i'd **** you, so what, i'd **** a lot of                                               people,"                                               Read 2:43 am         "..."                                                      "what are you typing"                                               Read 3:24 am
angelwarm
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Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
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