I pick my nose
With all my fingers
And all my toes.

I sniff a rose:
The aroma lingers:
I pick my nose.

Calcium grows
My thingamajingers
And all my toes.

A horseshoe throws
A bunch of ringers:
I pick my nose.

The north wind blows
A flock of wingers
And all my toes.

A sewer sews
With several Singers:
I pick my nose
And all my toes.

There once was a sneezer named Rose
Who'd sneeze to the tips of her toes.
    She once sneezed so heinous
    She puked out her ****
And blew out her brains through her nose.

Alot o ****
spe akstot
hehe art
**** hi sh
ere poe
m hwisp
ers sweetno
things to
thee lbo
w.

the hand has twenty-seven bones.
four to promise you i'll be there always,
four to wear the ring you gave me,
four to touch your lips when you're sleeping,
four to feel how long your lashes are,
three to show you that i'll be okay,
eight to have your face on my palm,
and all twenty-seven to hold your hand.

We've built a house like we recognize each other's walls, we felt safe on every corner where we familiarize ourselves too well; it's the anatomy of us. Our limbs where we cling to were as fragile as the heart I sculpt its own cracks, This body is malleable, it just grew mimicking what the others have— the fragments of what I love, my flesh, my soul and my curve haven't left untouched.

I shouldn't have grown into you, like this body doesn't belong to myself anymore.

I bathe in endless sips of your love
'till the watery depths of my stomach
gurgle their dissapproval,
leaving me sick.

He still looks at me
Like I'm his Meredith. Make
of it what you want.