My belly, a pimpled basketball,
puffed with pasta,
and my chest, just a hoop and a net, swishing wine through.
Spent my last ***
on cookies and cakes
stuffing my cheeks in backwards
with gushing gobs and slushy slimes.
I go mad like a fat queen.
my hot mouth,
now a thick, cocoa-creamy swirl,
as it turns into a custard-filled pastry of its own.
I do what I can to feel bliss among ****
Try to ignore the flies fizzing like seltzer.
The candy wrappers scattered wherever
like broken-into envelopes.
I feel a large thumb press, press, press
my skull to my ankles.
Tossing chocolate chunks square into
my throat like bozo buckets.
After a while
It stops being "eating"
and turns into a factory of into me and out of me.
In the end, the delicious part always gets too salty and
salt over salt is trash
and nothing stays
an ****** for more than a couple
pinches of this or that.
my body yells at me, because it wants nothing more but to
**** devil-face with those teeny-tiny, delicious
throbbing minutes.
I can't feel my life
and so I have to eat dinner on the floor.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
My belly, a pimpled basketball,
puffed with pasta,
and my chest, just a hoop and a net, swishing wine through.
Spent my last ***
on cookies and cakes
stuffing my cheeks in backwards
with gushing gobs and slushy slimes.
I go mad like a fat queen.
my hot mouth,
now a thick, cocoa-creamy swirl,
as it turns into a custard-filled pastry of its own.
I do what I can to feel bliss among ****
Try to ignore the flies fizzing like seltzer.
The candy wrappers scattered wherever
like broken-into envelopes.
I feel a large thumb press, press, press
my skull to my ankles.
Tossing chocolate chunks square into
my throat like bozo buckets.
After a while
It stops being "eating"
and turns into a factory of into me and out of me.
In the end, the delicious part always gets too salty and
salt over salt is trash
and nothing stays
an ****** for more than a couple
pinches of this or that.
my body yells at me, because it wants nothing more but to
**** devil-face with those teeny-tiny, delicious
throbbing minutes.
I can't feel my life
and so I have to eat dinner on the floor.
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