Donuts, o donuts,
Wheat Flour Enriched
Soybean,
Palm and Cottonseed Oil Hydrogenated
Vegetable Oil Partially Hydrogenated
Cocoa Processed with Alkali,
Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate
Sodium Aluminum Phosphate
Aluminum Sulfate
Salt, Dextrose, Soy Lecithin,
Guar Gum, Cellulose Gum, Tapioca Dextrin,
Corn Dextrins, Mono Diglycerides,
Citric Acid, Enzymes,
Natural & Artificial colors & flavors
Sorbic Acid and Sodium Propionate
and Potassium Sorbate
To Retain Freshness:
Eat 'em up yum.

The smells of caramel, citric fruit and bread being licked by flames,
The colour. Black. Deep and rich. As if it was oil taken from the ground,
The taste is different, bitter, and earthy, contrasted by molasses, and sweet almonds,
This is how my day begins.

How to cook carrot salad
carrot wash and clean. Grate the carrots on a coarse grater. Apple wash and grate.

apple, honey and the juice of red currants. Also add the chopped parsley and crushed nuts. All well and carefully

mix. Sitemap salad. 

sprinkle with citric acid and mix. Vegetables lay heaped sprinkle with grated cheese and chopped herbs

parsley. Sitemap salad.

Heck, Cook the fish and carrots. Fish and carrots on toast to cut pieces. Cleaned fish and carrots to put in

salad bowl. In a salad bowl add the peas. In add grated horseradish mayonnaise and season with the Sitemap sauce salad.

it's four pm sunday afternoon
and in an unforeseen
turn of events
i'm awake

guess i've slept so long
i couldn't nap away
one more
afternoon

remembering how on friday
waiting at the bus stop
a library employee
walked up to me and said

"would you
like a poem?"
and handed me
a note card

and on it was printed
a poem
and a reminder that
april was national poetry month

it reminded me
what i've known for far too long

that there are words inside me
clawing tooth and nail

trying to get out
and i have to let them

so today it's
sunday afternoon
and i'm thinking about how
sunday afternooons
aren't what
they used to be

they started out in
the backseat of a
blue dodge van
crammed between my brothers
npr on the radio
i hated car talk
but loved to hear the way
my dad laughed at what
couldn’t possibly be jokes
not since it wasn’t funny

but after car talk came
prairie home companion
garrison keillor's gravel
serenade of life in
lake woebegone
static bluegrass
the drama
of guy noir
the hilarity of
tom keith and fred newman
playing ping pong with
airplanes dive bombing overhead

winding up around the lake
through the corn fields
until we got
to grandma’s house

afternoons turned into
evenings and i would fall
asleep in the backseat
on the way home
staring upside down out the
window at the incandescent
orange street lights
barely bright enough to cast more
light than the stars
treetops dissolving into the dark sky

i always thought it was
fascinating how it everything
looked different from that
angle in the dark

sunday afternoons turned into
dashing around
the church grounds
unattended
picking up deer bones in the
back lot and throwing them
into the pond
eventually removing screens
from windows and
climbing out onto the roof

we got older
turned into teenagers
lazy summer days
a memory so
soaked in sugary
pink lemonade mix
i can't help but scrape my teeth
remembering the taste of
citric acid and innocence

how we thought we were
so grown up
but i'd give anything to be
that kid again

i wish we’d gone
on more trips to the mall
before the shops were dead husks
a fallen ozymandias
to the promise of capitalism
when there were shoe stores
and book stores and a
radio shack and a gertrude hawk

we would spend ages in the
bath and body works
smelling and calculating
how much body spray
we had to buy between ourselves
to get the most out of our coupon
exchanging the bills and bottles
in the food court across from the sears
years and years
before it would become a post
apocalyptic vaccination center of
folding chairs and masked queues

before i lost them
to the split paths
adulthood takes
us all down

i wish i'd known what
i know now
that no matter how bad
it feels in my own head
it's never a death sentence
it will come and go

i wish i’d known
that none of it would last

sunday afternoons
the in-between
washing my hair
while my friends
went with my parents
to church

i don't go to church
don't think i ever will again
even though i wonder
if the sense of community would help

it's sunday afternoon
but it's not how sunday
afternoons used to be
with johnny cash on a loop
as i lost myself in
empty cardboard boxes
straight lines of
dusty wine bottles
shattered pints of
gin on gritty concrete

sunday morning
coming down
but it never felt like
coming down
it felt as close to peace
and quiet as i could get

sunday afternoons
turned to hazy piles of
navy duvet and
dr teals scented sheets
but i can’t do that anymore
i’ve wasted enough time
trying to sleep out
my own thoughts

so i'm trying to
let myself remember
let the words out
one afternoon at a time

something about this
sunday afternoon
feels like how
they used to be

an indigo country playlist
on the tv
all alone
with my herbal tea
the candle burning is
lilac and violet
i'm starting to think
i could find a way to heal

i'm not writing this poem
for it to be good
i'm writing it because if i don't
i might slip down with
the raindrops into the drainage grate
never to be seen again

i have to let my past
wrap itself into my future
or i'll lose the parts of
myself that brought me to here

there’s something about
having the window open
while it rains that tells me
it’s going to be all right
something about how the
library bells still ring
just off the hour
that reminds me

how time passes
how sunday afternoons
have changed
and i’m sure they
will change again soon
and what a relief that is

Today is the day. As in customary, we shall start with the weather: The morning is clear and cool, the sunshine weak but well-meaning, the wind sweet but sharp and the trees green and chatty.

This day has been a long time coming. This day has. For too long it has skulking amongst the future pages of some misplaced internal diary. It's long shadow has been edged with fear, dreaded like an exam. Said fear melts away like yesterday's clouds, replaced by sunny optimism, for this date is now set in stone, frozen hard over night it now stares me down with oblique neutrality.

I'm not going anywhere, it whispers softly. You're fears are misplaced. Your fear of me is a your fear of death. Useful up to a point - but essentially irrational. Whatever will be will be and it will today.

The morning gather pace and after momentary brief salutations and briefer negotiations the train is boarded. The destination: no one knows. We know the names but they seem oddly sterile now, the sound cold hard lumps in our mouths, currency worn smooth: Edale, the pennines, the peaks, Absorbic. Citric. Folic, Formic Carbonic. Sulphuric. Deoxyribonucleic, Lysergic. Acid.

The absurd signposts of anonymous hamlets lazily swing by with increasing rapidity, blurring into one like the blades of a helicopter.

Post-industrial scabs and sores instantly give way to merry bucolic splendor as itchy, thick balaclava of the city in torn away. Laugh about nothing as we are hurled headlong into some postcard image of an England long lost between 'then' and 'now' where trees sing, walls are dry-stone and happy cows and sheep await noble, happy deaths; all wrapped in honey-coloured sunshine.

Rolling mounds of soft green matter undulate gently to a halt, and we emerge intrepid coloniser of a galaxy far far away. Locals eye us warily, the hot sun looks down angrily now. The baking mud coughs dust in our eyes and yellow spears of dead grass stab our tender shins. The warm fuzzy nostalgia that we are draped in gives way to...something else. Illogical patterns snake across verdant valleys, breathing and twitching. Harsh blue sky melts into hazy horizon, like oil on water. Panic sets in.

Pleading looks are exchanged and whilst reassurance is sought, none is found. Each gaunt face is scoured for hints of strength. Leaderless we wade through a sea of shimmering heat, collecting beads of sweat, losing hope of succour. We seek solace in plastic pound-shop distractions, only to find we are rendered too numbskulled to operate children's toys. Terror turns to horror. The yawning maw of madness, death is now so close we are caressed by it's putrid breath...

Release! Baking savannah morphs to cool,  mottled-green grotto and everything has already changed. All is bathed in verdant peace and ears can feel the cool lapping of a friendly stream.

Sleep escapes me.
I've felt feint clues of what laid dormant in my mind for so long.
The chemical key unleashed it and now.
Now I'm consumed by it.
In the waking hours it stabs.
Stabs.
Stabs!, at the frontal cortex of my brain like a railroad spike being driven into the ground.
The tears, the feelings, they've all floated away before the coming storm.
The mixture of taurine, caffeine, sugar, and citric acid has a slight burn as it slides down my throat.
It's been raining for a month.
Everyday I walk through it.
I let the droplets drip down my lenses.
It somehow adds a small bit of feeling, a short moment of tranquillity watching them slowly stream across the front of my eyes.
I reach the cafe, the same spot everyday.
I pretend to read but I spend hours watching the ripples form on the sidewalk through window pane.
This is the second, third day without slumber.
Vision is less clear with each passing hour.
No matter, it's still there in my mind.
And now I'm in public there's no escape.
Is this all I am now? Is this all there is?
I wonder what she's doing? I wonder who she's doing?
She's so cold anyway, no passion for life.
I'm the same in some ways but at least I'm taking initiative, taking steps to improve, at least I don't settle for the mundane.
She wasn't good for you!
I keep convincing myself over and over.
The repetition itself is maddening!
Sleep escapes me.
I need sleep to escape.
She's not in my dreams anymore.
She wasn't good for me.

im too tired to drive now
jesus take the wheel
i will sleep for days
curled up in a ball in the backseat
of my own car
im too drunk to drive now
jesus take the wheel
my face is numb from the *******
my teeth are clenched into a smile
life gave me lemons today,
or i found a bag of citric acid
and i squirrelled it away in my eyes
jesus crawled out of a hole in the ground
and i nailed him to his place in the sky
he will bleed onto my palate
and i will be cleansed by
his desperate sweat.

labyrinth lit by
floodlights straining
the vibrations
emanating from the
ground crusted with
glue pine sap and
citric acid a
flashlight in hand
to shine shadows
on awareness to
cast the eyes shut
and unflinching
not a twitch of
sight feeling the
coarse pig hair of
the walls shutting
out the light with
clenched lids open
palms with fiberglass
gashes staining a
path not to follow
but to inhale the
pathogenic patterns
ghosts showing us
the way towards
translucent permanence

I was lost so innocently in your eyes
Completely
Fooled
By love itself

So,
I guess that explains why your words
Pierced
My
Gut
And left a suffering so deep
That no drunken novelist can explain it

Like you set fire to my kidneys

Bathed my lungs in citric acid

You know
I loved you more than I had thought possible
And my fingers will
Never
Feel
So at home
Again

But it's been a pleasure to have your hands be the ones to
Rip
Apart
My chest
And break the bones that make up my rib cage

It was an honour to love you

But

This is my final tribute to you
My final goodbye
The last time I put your inflections to paper
The
Last
Time
I
Ever
Miss you

There are dried up splashes of juicy orange wedges,
randomly splattered across my key board, no void in
the pattern, no victim.

Careless way to eat anything near an electronic thing,
citric acid bleeding into fine circuitry do not abide side by side,
with out someone losing interest.

Carelessness is a choice like loading a gun rather
than buying a Rolls Royce.  Putting a knife out of
sight, "just in case someone starts a fight" said
in the shadows of a fearful heart.

Guns and knives, guns and knives were only meant to
end lives, no self-defence, no, "sorry I won't let it happen,
again.", said by a teen with blood red-rimmed eyes but no
emotion.

Violence is a choice, poor man rich man matter naught,
you live and die in the lifestyle you sought, maybe got
more than you bargained for.

Cats have nine lives and I, like you, have only one before
the Great Hereafter, so I would rather spend it not crying
tears of grief and fill my ears with the sounds of my children' s
children laughter.  

Echoes of which, resound so, even the Heavens rejoice.

All I wanted was a night out on the town with her
With all the love and adoration that I promised her
Fitted cap on my head, felt like a trend setter
A mental slap from my momma; I should’ve known better.

Picked her up, and I was starin’ at her gorgeous outfit
Her fitted top, her cotton blouse, and lookin’ fine without it
Honored to stand beside her, I didn’t mind the clues
I found her very attractive wearin’ designer shoes

Took her out to dinner, we’re conversin’,
Lobster in citric acid – she devours, thinks it’s worth it
The in-house chef comes at our table and asks,
“This is the fifth time you’ve ordered,
So can you make this your last?”

The check is at our table; I offer to pay for it
She doesn’t even glance, pullin’ out her phone
I noticed her nails; she paid a lot for ‘em
Dinner was very painful
She wants me over? I'm startin' to see her fatal halo

On our way to her place, a man was gettin’ robbed
I’m shoutin’ at the attackers - she’s actin’ very odd
Tell her to call the cops to try and get these boys to stop,
“Sorry but I’m in a hurry! I’ll see you at the spot.”

Ten minutes later I’m racin’, and knockin’ at her door,
Reachin’ her place and I notice she’s pacin’ back and forth,
She’s on the phone with a “*****” who stole her ex from her
Angry detonation soon as she got a text from her

She tells a “Jada” on the phone, “***** I don’t give a ****!”
Jada responds “wantin' to let you know and wish you luck.”
But you can tell that she was jealous of Jada’s position
Her ex is treatin’ her better, happy with his decision

I’m wonderin’ what happened; turns out that Jada’s pregnant
“She thinks I care about that, knowin’ that I resent him!”
She claims she’s better than Jada in every single way
With self-respect and sayin’ prayers every single day

Seekin’ some validation, she’s beggin’ for a kiss
Intimate opportunity, she’s hopin’ not to miss
Her sweet, angel hazel eyes are lookin’ sour ‘cause
I’m just exhausted and feelin’ the witchin’ hour buzz

She lashes out; I see the reason why this girl is single
Admits to cheatin’ on her ex and so she’s out to mingle
Pulls out a lash and then proclaims that I should punish her?!
I’m out the door within’ seconds cause I’m so done with her!

Legs entwined break free,
As Sol beckoned over Korik Hill.
Their stomachs still warm,
With last night's ****.

Dusty flecks played like,
A million shards of garnet.
Watching over her head,
In beams of light, russet.

Unwilling to break
Meek, fleeting dreams,
He closed all space, between
Them were no seams.

Ruefully she moved,
Even in slumber.
One cannot erase,
The skin of a lover.

'Agaroth'
Whispered moan, from bit lips.
'Namna', his head on
Her ***** is where happiness is.

'We should go'
Said she, as Solara rose.
The sky warm with both,
Under two suns, they awoke.

--

A scraggy shore,
Rocks, lichen and moss.
Lake of silence,
No sound would cross

Twas her kingdom,
Her Majesty a thousandfold.
Within walls of green,
Ochre, yellow and gold.

She stood waist deep,
Soft back to him, a statue.
As she overlooked the fishes
Passing by in a hundred hues.

Bathing in rainbows,
Her form bare, open.
A liquid pearl glowing,
In an endless ocean.

Soon she emerged,
Onto the heavy bank.
His arms covering her modesty,
His honour in her hands.

--

Solum now emerged,
The wind cool on bent figures.
Harvest of their fruit,
This year was bigger.

Mud stained bodies,
In sound of labor.
As both pulled fruit and flower,
Of ethereal flavors.

He plucked one,
A plump pompous citric.
Tasted the fruit slowly,
It's effect electric.

An offer made to her,
Politely subdued.
Held his hands,
Expression bemused.

'Come here' beckoned Namna,
Agaroth obeyed.
The fruit she tasted,
Was from his mouth that day.

Violet stained her neck,
Godly juice.
He tasted just enough,
Skin and fruit suffused.

--

Solara began her descent,
The sky, blood on topaz.
Cool though it happened to be,
The wind was sad.

Under the shadow of
The siblings, Solum and Sol,
Sat a fire now hungry,
Devouring mushrooms and stalk.

Warm, Namna spoke of home,
To him, a child before her.
Eyes wide, he waited,
For her words, to devour.

'It was beautiful', she told him,
Of the lands and seas and crests.
Of Men, Machine and
Many Deaths.

--

Her voice was nectar,
Soon he drifted in a haze.
Sweet, soft and dear,
Lying still in her gaze.

He dreamed of that night,
Invaded by the SkyFolk.
The night of her arrival,
Amidst a sea of iron and smoke.

Thirty and two times
The Sun siblings had since,
Risen and fallen with them,
As they shared their sins.

He had discovered,
She spoke, a delight.
But not his tongue,
To his surprise.

She was built as him,
But he could see.
The difference twixt;
The Man and Goddess clearly.

Sole inhabitant of a far
Cosmic reduce unwanted.
A wish he never thought of,
Here, before him, granted.

He came to, and,
Looked at her firelit face.
Spoke of love in his tongue,
As he watched her drift into space.

--

Lunox presently hung,
Suspended, a pyramid.
And before it reached its peak,
The world was silverlit.

A glorious change,
To the world, this light.
Somber companionship,
Would last through the night.

Gentle nudges brought,
Namna to him.
He signaled at the moon,
Which was now moving.

Faceted at impossible
Edges, Lunox spat color.
Iridescent, layered,
Their world in a fervor.

Her eyes studied him
A gem in nocturnal light.
Ruby, emerald, sapphire,
Blazing dark and bright.

Star painted, they
Walked home together.
Her hand in his own,
Light as a feather.

--

Deep, internal hum,
Escaped from her, loud
As he kissed her lips,
The ones not on her mouth.

His hair clutched,
Tangled in her fingers.
Pulling him inwards,
Many feelings triggered.

Rose over the valley,
Of shy legs.
His head beside hers,
Their waists connect.

All of Agaroth
Pulsing, yearning.
Inside Namna,
Inside her fire, burning.

Warmer than the Suns,
Cooler than the lake.
Sweet, ignorant and in peace
Love they did make.

Furs sprawled,
The sheets in a mess.
The other's skin was their
Only dress.

--

On a small bed,
In a small room.
They talked of life,
Of despair and doom.

Each simply speaking,
Not mindful of comprehension.
When touch is louder than voice,
No bar rests on communication.

Much comfort there was,
In time they discovered.
In sharing a life,
Over the galaxy, scattered.

Escapee from,
a dying Earth.
Inhabitant of,
A deceased world.

A longing for what is,
Now gone past.
Traces of two souls,
Here in Xalta shall last.

Of all cosmic variables,
The most improbable.
Yet brought together,
In an interstellar fable.

--

Maybe now, that limelight you seek

is not as glamorous as you once thought.

Nostalgia replaced with a shield of infamy,

infamy that doubles as shield and sword.

Your eyes grow green with beautiful

unrighteous envy, obvious jealousy.

You’d strike down your best friend to

glow like citric, pour out like acid.

I’m not sure if I know you from somewhere anymore.

I’m not sure if we’ve passed each other in bright lights,

or in dark rooms, or daylight, or barlight, or held hands

or narrowly escaped a world trying to pump us full

of *******. Now you’re just mean in spirit, as a cliche.

You’re Charlie Sheen by way of Kim Kardashian,

You’re plastic by way of cellophane.

If it’s hurts it’s only because I try as hard as you,

it hurts only because this time, I want it to.

You have a citric tongue
Acidic but tasty

You are a vacation
In mental *******

Sulphurous words
That burn me
Full of furious reactions
Such an oceanic passion
A deep blue sea
Of eyes that look into me

Your body is a nation
Barely opened borders
I flow into you
Heart heavy and tired
Poetic soul branded illegal
Desire makes me criminal
Wanting those wanton lips
Chapped from our heated kiss

Make me your facebook friend
To share your soul
In the form of digital content
Then bury me in cement
Solidifying your foundation

Building us up from lust
And a cosmic elation
With a milky way
*******

Till both of us
Return fully reformed
From the ravishing rains
Of that ****** storm

point 2 of a gram
shooting the man is the plan,
a needle
a spoon
citric and soon
you're joining the moon
out in space,
a spaced out man
point 2 of a gram.

There is no light at the point of a 'pin', there's just night and you might bear that in mind the next time that you find a plan,
point 2 of a gram.

tis
a
shade
past the middle
of
the night

tis
quiet
with the
exception
of the pulse of
the waves
and
your breathe
whispering in
my ear

tis
time
for
all good and sane
people
to be asleep

yet
i
am
awake
pondering
life's
questions
and
eating a mandarin,
juice
bursting with citric
sweetness
running down
my chin

tis
slightly
absurd
yet
slightly
decadent
staring
into
the depths
of the night
with the
taste of
mandarin
on the tip
of your tongue

tis
one
of this
insomniac's
quiet
joys

tis...tis...tis

L-,

It's a lonely acid evening,
citric-salted, hung like a skin

on headlights that rise
& split into orange antlers.

A woman screams "Barry!"
into the alley, over and over,

until night climbs over her
with black, grinding knees.

Sweet Saturday carvings
are Sunday's rack and bone:

after your lobby debut
(your eyes fine as sea-thread)

you spun away, you are still spinning.
The heart's ever-after is knotted:

I thin you with gin, smear
that clever flash of teeth and lip

into the cold hollows of air
that clot the mid-month.

Listen: the alley woman
gave up on Barry.

Yours,
E-

Count the old men on the Armenian plateau
And TV shows on the mountain Named
the Nanowak Mountain Company is
named for the company,
And how many points does the church room have?
Decoration of the living room with
Mountains, walking along the river,
The guy who used the car in the car
And create new sports in football
Silver money Benny becomes a hunter
Play zones with crystal
But for the birds separated from San
Jorin from the last race;
Cheyanewiyenine products include;
Chinese TV hills and mountains
Football is on the top.
How many countries are in the country
of drinking?
Arabic Christian Every song
Museum of Nanovak Dream
Can learn football; Show lights with power spaces
You can play music discs.
The truth about hunger; The famine of George
looks like China;                              China has Chinese TV programs
Harry and Shoshnini
Many dreams about dreams in Nanak.
I drink from all sides
Which is at Mount Hall
and the whole world is stolen with arrows
The company is where the idea of ​​music.
Why Lorem? Museum of Eis The new Irish
package is very easy. Physical Activity
Lone Beni cable used to make
And the money A magic spell will be a hit
Recent class conflicts
For young Georges Black Black Gloves
And black and white day crimes are illegal
Loyilochi cigar acid ****. But for meshikerikeri
yewochhewi Turkey's smoke, white or green
and white;  Do not forget the magazine itself
And report bonuses for 1,000 months
Lots of vegetables and fruits and Africa 3
In his wife's life Good night, Kokinoshi song,
night, dark Good night CEO Europe
Or in the UK John Kerry Yekirimeri
Keep the color of your skin for a long time
Blessings are the people chosen to fight
the good money. At the same time, the landscape
of Bandan Boat was not good.
Gore's ♥ WiG: Gore is the strongest
and free image of the heart.
Training of Chinese citizens in Mountains
and TV programs in mountainous areas.
Participants in the hill, Nanavacac
became the name of the company
at the stadium and the number of points
included in the hallway of the auditorium.
Rainbow is a drink. Only the circle
in the museum and the creation of Silver
Silver Age Silver Games Use another
group to play. But the birds are separated
from this last straw type of St. Thomas.
George from China, Chinese TV programs
of Tz'iiniiiniin mountain explosion in the mountains,
arrows, earths, drinks, a few details, salon,
Christian message,            a tag all of the treatments,
an Arab museum, continuous music
such as Nanavacac's new book dominates glass,
ceramics, silver and rope. It can play with stars with hunters.
The news outlets of the famine of George,
China and China,  and Chinese TV shows,
mountains, and mountains. Shosheniyenini
Nanawakak in a world-like hood. All sites
Pijema looked at the company's firm name
Garden Music important in this area Metal
Museum of Ireland Department of Education
New device small child It is very easy to play cable,
star and silver. Magic mirror that should be played,
but it is considered to be separate. George Gee
latest race except carp black gloves Sunday shoot cigars,
black and white and citric acid for a long time,
but after meshikerikeriyewochechewi tobacco Turkish,
white or white and magazine magazine Do not forget to connect
with a large mouth, 1000 new African food,
free range, three good nights, Kokenochi
is the best night music night of Christmas.
CEO of Europe and later after John Kerry
made a long yekirimeri Chu, he wanted
to be an idea to fight the color of the skin
with the idea of ​​happiness. If you do not
perform the ship to serve a strong image
of the circle, bad gurēwi Count the old I'm
on the Armenian plateau    And TV shows on the mountain
Named the Nanowak Mountain Company for the company
And what the church has a few points?
Decoration of the living room;   Mountains,
walking along the river;  The guy who used
the car in the car; And create new sports
in football; Silver money will become
a hunter; Play zones with crystal
But for the birds separated from San Joseon
from the last race, Cheyanewiyenine
products include; Chinese TV hills
and mountains Football is on the top.
How many countries are in the country
of drinking? Arabic Christian Every
song Museum of Nanovak Dream
Can learn football Show lights with power
spaces You can play music discs. The truth
about hunger; The famine of George looks
like China;   China has Chinese TV programs
Harry and Shoshnini; Many dreams
about dreams in Nanak. I drink from all sides
Which is at Mount Hall and the whole world
is stolen with arrows; The company is where
the idea of ​​music is. Why Laura? Museum
of Eisen- The new Irish package is very easy.
Physical Activity Lone Benny is used
to make cable;            And the money
A magic spell will be a hit; Recent class
conflicts For young Georges Black Black
Gloves And black and white day crimes
are illegal; Loyilochi cigar acid kills.
But for meshikerikeriyewochhewi
Turkey's smoke, white or green
and white; Do not forget the magazine
itself. And report bonuses for 1,000 months
Lots of vegetables and fruits and Africa 3
In his wife's life Good night, Kokinoshi
song, night, dark Good night CEO Europe
or in the UK John Kerry Engineer
Keep your skin for a long time
Blessings are the people chosen
to fight the good money.
At the same time, the landscape
of Bandana Boat was not good.
Gore's ♥ Wi G. Gore, is the most powerful
and free image of the heart.
Training of Chinese citizens in Mountains
and TV programs in mountainous areas.
Participants in the hill, Nanavacac
became the name of the company
at the stadium and the number of points
included in the hallway of the auditorium.
Rainbow is a drink.                                           Only the circle in the museum
                                                 and the creation of Silver Silver Silver Games
use another group to play.       But the birds
are separated from this last straw
type of St. Thomas.      George from China,
Chinese TV programs of Tz's mountainous
mountain explosions in the mountains,
arrows, earths, drinks,   a few details, salon,       Christian
message,
an Arab museum,                            continuous music
like Nanavacac's new book, dominates glass,
ceramics, silver and rope. It can play with stars
witch hunters. The news outlets of the famine
of George, China and China, and Chinese TV shows,
mountains, and mountains. Shosheniyenini
Nanawakak in a world like hood.
All sites Pijema looked at the company's
firm name Garden Music in this area,
Metal Museum of Ireland is a very
easy to play cable, star and silver. Magic
mirror that should be played, but it is considered
to be separate. George Ge's latest race carp
black gloves Sunday, cigars, black and white
and citric acid for a long time, but after
meshikerikeriyewochechewi tobacco Turkish,
white or white and magazine magazine
Do not forget to connect with a large
mouth, 1000 new African foods, free
range, three good nights, Kokenochi
is the best night music night of Christmas.
CEO of Europe and later after John
Kerry made a long-kick Chu,     he wanted
to be an idea to fight the idea of ​​happiness.
If you do not make the ship to serve
a strong image of the circle, bad guru