"breyer" poems
Jelly dry as ******* ice
Mice
Like evils mice they bite
Up my arms
Like charms
And Breyer ducking **** why the ugh can't you ******* get up
The thought of your thoughts is drought
Me so
The inside of my chest is better than the explanation of the Rest of the messages I sent
Why can't you get up
Sorry not sorry for the mice. Sorry not sorry for the ignorant would worry but too lazy
But too dumb
But too numb
But too ******* fed up
With your mothers hazy eyes and c cups
Why don't you ******* get up
Instead of ******* ******* up
I hate the ******* thought if that
You know ******* who I'm yelling at
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
So what if it's an ice cream fetish?
I'll relish in knowing I'm less ****** up than you.
I'm sad in an "Atkins diet is healthy" kinda way.
I'm so done that you need to quick!
take me out of the oven and carve me up for your family!
"Sorry, I think it's a little dry this year."
"Oh, no! Not at all! Did you find this glaze online?"
I can't stand being alone, which is normal.
If God is the DJ, he's not playing enough practical jokes.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC