*******,
****** painted perversions.

It's a simple symptom,
made of soy-based meat, and lumps of super sorry self hatred, held in solitary confinement with lies, and that little bit of **** that hangs off of your hands after you scrub your hands after you take a load.

After you ****.

Slugged off a solid mud-baked toad made of humilation and june bugs.

It *****.

And so do you.

Just dont' eschew how bad you've been,
because You're found out.
And you'll pay for every calorie.

Every ad-spot.
Every sin.
Every media spin that you hope
make you free.

Not even.

You're a cast off,
frozen bug.
Slug.
Salted.
Neutered.
Faulted.
Rotted.
Broken.
Blackened.
­Fractured.
****** up
thing.
You're nothing.
Natta.
Bladda.
Broken.
Stoked in a fire of lies.
Try.
Please.
Try to be a person.

Please.
Know what you lost.

because you're worse than a ****.

Worse than a ****!
It's absurd.
You should be in charge.
But instead you're a childish joke.
For real!

Commander-in-Chief!

You're the ******-at-large.

Little, battered, melted thinking.
Held deep down in the fry,
is a glob of batter thinking.

Bitty, little, shake-ups.
Held hard, and soaking in a basket.

Tiny little baked goods,
turning stale as time is passing.

Chewy little fractures,
can turn up and **** all truth.

My life is full of *******,
made and kale and Baby Ruths.

God, poison hate-crimes have held me in wrapped up pieces.

I shared friends, made more the many people my people.

It's yucky,
but still,
I'm not evil.

And even held an even keel,
showing that I'm still real.

I'm, not were I ever, even people.
Not evil.
Not even.
Still.

Blood.
Nooses.
Pale golden gooses.

Shedding,
Noxious cedar bedding
ridding us of pest and paupers.

Laying off noxious,
toxic, pickled, ******.

Annexing hate-held fractures feces
is making me think.

I tripped over a huge rock yesterday.

What the hell had really happened is kind of a mystery.

But, still I tried to help, and scraped my knees.

Weird.

I felt like I was being a hateful ******.
But, so was she.

Placing hateful showers up into high-held gelded guilds is a perfect way to be,
to make a soul show
patience,
when it came to hate.

So, not knowing how it really felt
to be in living hell
only shows us how far
that we've really fell.

I brewed up a couple of cups of coffee before my best friend woke up.

She had wanted breakfast, but I was broke,
So, instead I'd suggested staying in.

I could make up a *** of coffee,
and put together some food.

I would take cups of whatever we had last night,
and forget them.
I'd forget them soon.

And instead we could just laugh and make
a day out of how we feel,
instead of living of life feeling how we should
wondering.
Really.

Reeling and having happy moments but never feeling food.
Goodness held in graciousness,
understanding, taking it all up like a fool.

Chitters, shivered chatting teeth pitter-pattered when the heater had burned out last night.

So, I covered myself in my blanket and brewed hot tea, but it's only lasted an hour or two.

Or three or four hours at most,
but before I knew it, the sun showed up and sparkled.

Light beams brewed out of me and my coffee cup,
and before I knew it, I had breakfast loaded in my belly,

and a tote bag full of new stories to share all of my
hung over friends after our brutally long
weekend covered with ***** and losers.