Even though we're not of the same womb, we share the same fleshy coat covering our bare and brittle tomb.
I will never sigh a moment of disappointment again after you picked from my pocket, my deep throated eight-***** deep right corner socket, the envious green bank locket.
Eight months and some silver change went by without so much as an apology, my effigy standing momentarily proud, my everlasting quieted eulogy seeking nothing more than a loud creaking to my bleating apathy.
Just relax those temptations and sweet sensations, fix the tooth yearning for it's familiar ache, that familiar feel of the snake, learning to break that stride of your pride. In the dark through the mist I arise to ****** back what is rightfully mine.