Sep 2013
Nothing gets crossed out -
A collection of the worst jokes you ever told (something about LSD and shellfish) rolls and rolls and rolls and rolls into dust bunnies (whispering my secrets) snatched up and molded with vegan butter until a collective comet increase, increases, IGNITES into flames and is suddenly the rising sun you rose up underneath from six times in my bed where the butterflies in my stomach shivered and shook and made their way to the walls at eye level with your tiny ears
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Tie a tin-can telephone to the door of your own personal world from my mailbox and I'll leave a message on your carrier pigeon (answering machine?)
I'm confused.
"Jennifer wants you to know that she wants you and her to move into a postage-stamp house in a postcard of Italy - she says to make sure you know that the house has no walls and lots of ladybugs."
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I think we're breaking up - "What do you mean, you know what I look like without my face? Jesus, Jenny, you're ******* nuts."
-
It's okay though, I got like, ten cents for recycling those cans. Anyways
CRASH! From behind a junkyard ~
Sounds that I will drown out with my erectile-dysfunction pills.
-
There's a candle from something called (Ireland?) here and I can't ******* blow it out, there's like twenty, or twelve years probably, you are repeated here doing sunrise stretches in fluttering orange flames
Green slime oozes from the cracks in your shower tiles and I try to pin it back up with clothespins; just in case it helps you save the world. By the way - I will write my name in the unethical fog left behind an Indian-ocean's worth of water and say I fell asleep, wasn't me, astral projection did it (!!)
-
(Are you still with me?)
-
The last chapter - the Queen of England will buy your burial site under a fake name and I will fingers crossed decompose into one looooong-winded aperçu.
A collection of the worst jokes you ever told (something about LSD and shellfish) rolls and rolls and rolls and rolls into dust bunnies (whispering my secrets) snatched up and molded with vegan butter until a collective comet increase, increases, IGNITES into flames and is suddenly the rising sun you rose up underneath from six times in my bed where the butterflies in my stomach shivered and shook and made their way to the walls at eye level with your tiny ears
-
Tie a tin-can telephone to the door of your own personal world from my mailbox and I'll leave a message on your carrier pigeon (answering machine?)
I'm confused.
"Jennifer wants you to know that she wants you and her to move into a postage-stamp house in a postcard of Italy - she says to make sure you know that the house has no walls and lots of ladybugs."
-
I think we're breaking up - "What do you mean, you know what I look like without my face? Jesus, Jenny, you're ******* nuts."
-
It's okay though, I got like, ten cents for recycling those cans. Anyways
CRASH! From behind a junkyard ~
Sounds that I will drown out with my erectile-dysfunction pills.
-
There's a candle from something called (Ireland?) here and I can't ******* blow it out, there's like twenty, or twelve years probably, you are repeated here doing sunrise stretches in fluttering orange flames
Green slime oozes from the cracks in your shower tiles and I try to pin it back up with clothespins; just in case it helps you save the world. By the way - I will write my name in the unethical fog left behind an Indian-ocean's worth of water and say I fell asleep, wasn't me, astral projection did it (!!)
-
(Are you still with me?)
-
The last chapter - the Queen of England will buy your burial site under a fake name and I will fingers crossed decompose into one looooong-winded aperçu.
