Buggy

I can't stand being slammed Against the lock and errr.. I didn't know if he was a north or south kind of boy. Play like a sees aww, there's goes the neighborhood, there goes my sweet little girl. Hungry hands like to claw and pla but whyyy can't they play with my hands or hair not my egg sss, I hiss for god, I hate hate hate a cruel boy with a broom in his hand and splinters all up inside and I hate hate hate to let him see eee..watch me put on a dress and twirl around on his head don't don't come crashing down please go easy she's just plastic ickkk.

I'll rip a bit- at the surface of your cheek. Eat my sweet girl, eat your meal, your daddy's in the stew, I took away all his atoms and i'm giving them to you. Taste pain for what it is-sweet. It's saturated with sex and whathave you, it's full of flowers and some yeast too. Trust me dear, it tastes so good, I even grilled the smarts, his arts, the temporal too. Pushing you in the fountain where I swam like the fish I was my fins Flying me to dry land.

This guy came by over a year ago. A box of little somethings that tasted a lot like nothing.  I forgot his name; it didn't roll off my tounge as I would have liked it to. He came inside for a bit and I gave him food to eat but no place to go, this can't be a home, my little grey grey box with lies about flowers all over inside.  And a picture of the beach with blue skies above my head that mocked me. He left in days time. I told him, why, i'd wait on my red and white sweet loveseat. He came back again, but with a new mask to flaunt, and new sweet words to boot.   And I ate them like a bowl of sweet carmel-camels. The tast

It's about that time when my beloved gang of friends (or something like them)   bark orders of  Hey, put the lights on! In one note of different tones.   One named Ubu Got too fiesty with me (could be)  The soccer ball name, so I returned the favor with a 40 feet long snake named                               Horace.

Down on Arley P-L, an assemblage of seven Assorted white-collar wing-men gather where the light meets their exposed feet. Dremels wouldn't do them a damn bit of good. Rare is how they take their meet; Well-done is for the ones behind concrete and measured glass. They split the tab in chunks divided unevenly; males never learn share. I met one at the prickly neckline with stubby flesh and dead cells. Sadly, all he could do was recap what he ate earlier that day.

I keep trying to recall the motion your hands made at an awkward angle. Two half-circles met one day, and wanted a three-way with a pair of l i n e s.  But this was never enough, we only met at our marks                         halfway. You never gave me the                              W                           H    E.                              L                    

Wild eyes on those nights you feel like piercing with amazing dilation and night-vision question: "Are they coming, or is this pupil staying wide for questioning?" And he was on the other end but breathing without the letters struggling off vocal folds, extensions to make out an ouja-like answer: I-D-O-N-T-F-E-E-- and you're left there gaping still.