in  ft.lauderdale there is a tunnel. the Henry E. Kinney tunnel. it is dusty and loud.
ghosts pass through there and beg me for change. little do they kno that i have the morphine.
less fiends. all fiends.
if you sit in there long enough youll gather waves of grey on your skin.
like sand on the shore can become such pretty patterns.
why am i writing this? the sun is shining.
if god was my soulmate id cheat with the devil,
and id have a very vivid imagination.
pop-corn on sale. 50cents.
broke tooth on kernel. cant afford the visit.
dry mouth to ****.
dryers empty.
loose change.
loose cannon.
a monster.
is on the loose.
you wake up and the doctor starts to say something but you eat him.
quick! hand me a sqrew-driver.
i want to **** a bird on my way down.
if anyone ever loved and were loved by both parents then i am happy for you. you are:
happy person.
i have talked to many people.
and they talk and they talk and they pass time with words..like gas.
waste the breath and the small bones in my ear.
and always remember: try to listen every once in a while.
talk too much is rude. especially about nothing.
please shut up.
everyone.
2.
3.
forever.
5.
sick
psychopaths.