uilix

Rye viberation of the morning after. Young gloves sunken in acid brine. Pass test green visor of visions take hulls of flesh and filled them with dancing spiritus. Tusks are broken in vines of the ordinary blahhh blahh. Take your forms to the center console and enter in you date of birth, sex, and occupation. What are you doing here? WHAT what are you doing here? I'm here for the free terry fox cloth. Died awake in a run. Never blighted only content in the of sure obsecure. Those magic bean pills to make us giants of life aren't being sold in your shopper drug mart or pharmacy of choice. Doctor Nofucks isn't shelling out those diamonds. He's got corn feed Monsteranto gene cut bootles that are going in our gullet. Yum yum brain cancer. Foreigns aids spread across our peanut butter sandwiches with ghost of knowledge at the backdoor knocking and saying – hey bozo check your crane's e's and uum's. Lift back your thoughts that were unwelcome in your personality front and make you shake in your bootietons. Cravings and ennui and unnamed desires. Search for sea kites and earth flows. Mistakeable foxes needed help out of a snare. Let the wildlings go. They'll spread fertilizer which first stinks and gags and later blooms and blooms and blooms. We want these blooms. If you leave behind with out them you fool you will crawl back to the misty forest of green gray and peak for merry gold that keeps a smile for a long while until you due for a just and peaceful slumber with lumber cats and shady dogs. Pleasant little creatures until you would love a good scare. Who neverminds these worries will come face to face with that uncreased bed sheet you will bounce off of and turn inside out over. Hoot Hoot and craddle you liver it babies are cured of what ailes them. What a black box of what kind of love could that be for yours truely on a Saturday night. In one end murky and crusty and spiney and harpied and out the other with a velvet soft spiral caresses and lifts up every movement in favour of agape and grapes between friends. Still sweet fruits on their last days and usually between with distinction. Wow what a original that was. I wish we could have more but I'm happy just to have been a part of that existence for a brief moment. Memories for when were at the beach and flipping over tales when we play widgets and glee. Heroics what a little cost they reach for today's lot except we are glued with samsonite locks and brief cases of terror down the barrel of a daath unknown chao every thing a part disjoint tears of insanity so sticking you glue locks of repetition and automatons. devil you know. lets be polite. stay safe. Lock you doors. Smile and nod. Vacation pay. Likes. Thumbs up. Showing your face. Extra effort. Grate FULL for this opportunity. Towing the line and taking one day at a time. Full days pay and don't forgot to sign in. Punch clocks. Bite your lips off. Grab hold of your tongue. Take a hot skillet and sear those juices in. Rare. Seasoned. Four times year without question. Never ending flights through fields. Those fields and figures. Either. Or. Both together. Hard boiled eggs that don't want to crack. Shelled game. Shell shocked. Trenched in and not coming out to play on mine field. It totally safe once you lose you limbs and sink in to the game. We is all and all we is. Maybe perhaps and thats okay. Relax in the mud bath and co create a new path. Take responsibility for it all and all and all. We are kid-ing ourselve with our lack of fun choices. We perhaps were putting on straps to and staying inside the minivan on the summer soultice. Baking inside. Sweats down the back of our ass. Sweaty salty bootyholes puckering with won ton fulfillment. We can get whole again. Fill ourselve right up. Wholly Leer jets. Full throttle fun just waiting outside them sliding doors. But were afraid our best friends playing on the playground. They're playing a game. And maybe we don't know it. Maybe its on us. Maybe they want to make fun of us. Maybe they don't really like me. Maybe they want to hurt me. Maybe think I'm stupid. Maybe they are not like me. Maybe are not really there. Is that just a mirage and if walk over there and they aren't there they are going to jump out of the bushes and laugh at me. And won't stop laughing at me. Pointing me into the ground. Laughing when I cry. Laughing at my mistakes. Laughing and throwing rocks. Laughing when the rocks hit me. Spitting on me. Kicking me. Calling me different bad. Different bad. No use and burden. Guilty of all bad things that could happen and will ever happen. It is all my fault. Things will always be this bad. I am doomed for futility and constant failure. Lower and lower no end in sight. Misery rotting until I'm the dirt they walk on. Unnoticed they trample me still but don't even recognize me anymore. Nonexistant blank black. Forever outside looking in. What a crock of shit. Let's go for a drink and sing songs. Arm and arm. Beating our bleeding hearts.