Michigan friend with Cucool de Tink
Boxcar hopper, cool box cat:
I can't believe you don't like that box.
composeur of 2tool dechat2
welcome bullet lashing
lead hole sink song in right lung
wear with care ze cigarettes in hair.
DOB, favorite food, drug of choice:
flower, the better cunt
huff it hard
oralgasm i swear to god
vision organs lick for hours
then watch it wither
the life evaporates
I take my pipe. the music becomes cock hard.
women with hair as spider nests
[keep buttnaked astronauts there,
sip the blood bring oaktree erections
rip skalp, jizz so hard their heads crack
dew drops on the spider web --]
stir their cunts with the splintered femur of a famous playboy
in clever droll, veiled eros
they beg to my loin for cigarettes
bloom their peelies for a nod to my wallet
with evading eyes they are living mirrors
i frown to my reflexion
jamul, shes a buddhist or something.
chain smoking buddhist. rural buddhist.
skate-boarding sport-fucking buddhist.
ghetto anorektic holy saint of the lockjawed rats
got a wig bed in the third dumpster behind Shitney's Wigs
mother of the heroin vishnus in the open mic night, fux em all
i'd like to move two fingers along her palms
three up the wrist
four round the elbow
they five engage
t climb the hair ropes
strum the neck: Nessun Dorma
from behind the tombstone tooth
and the trees alive beneath fortunate fruits
black mother, bisexual bigender
confused for a man, speaks in salads
they think shes crazy but god put her tongue like that.
they thinks ebonix cos she black
suicidal shiva, make loves with God amighta die
i'll rob her corpse
and wear her clothes
and they will be worn twice for self killing
we will become kitchen appliances.