hellsforheroes

Slowly, gentlemen slowly, it is time to take this to another level. It is the destiny of finishing off the prominent man in the sentiment glory of something abstract, a mention of suspended motion, I mean what the hell is the point, I killed the virus. I think this is the stupidest thing I have ever written. Dangerously, gone, like a vacuum of thought, the girls, sitting in the little bird house chambers, waiting for the love of a dangerous diver, a lunatic of a Donner dinner party survivor. Where the words fight for their diction, the change misshapen courtesy of the babies, the nipple of the teething cleaver, the lodge of sophisticated broken cherry stems, heaven hems, tiny spunk babies in darling dresses, flowering wedge tresses, secret quiet petite undresses, and then she presses her something girly into the rummage cathedral of virginal misunderstood messes. For the blood sausage baby girl, the boss is keeled over to slaughter, the axe in the air, Freud is screaming where did it go, I hate you for not having it, you bloody wounded victims of lesser cocaine, profane, insane, brains, simple quiet television waves, coming in trays, thats the new craze, you know, to do it, do it, the yeah-yeah, the blow, the traveling hobo with a glow, the glowing rain of an acerbic window pane, a view from the cheap seats of deliverance, the golden planet of the basement swamp, the elbow room groom of an ugly bitch, the finger of the modern hitch, the curse of a murderous woman, an angry deadly, cunning bitch. I think. Sense. I think and sense. I think and sense something in my pants quite immense, something of independence, ask me, the boy in the grades of middle mental fabricated emancipated sedated, junior not high related. One of the boys got a mind of his own, hes the king you see the shithead of a throne, the apt, the prone, the kingdom of the overgrown, underneath, underneath the bone, the undertone of seeing lactating visions, the biggies for the crowd of onlookers, the drive to see the country, dont call it a frat, with barbs, spikes, valiant little trims to slid the crme de menthe, absinthe for the silly unders. Its just two people with a little thunder, an urge, a dive, a stream, a cherry in a pie with milked whipped cream. A big sun day, an urge like the treasure of a restraint, a painter, a giant saint, her, a sweet big eyed kind babe, a sweetheart supremacy of holy spirit calibration, a woman for the ages, a something for the seas, a marry endangerment of a lifetime repenting for no such crime, love in an amorous crystal jar, patience as a virtue, and an American car, Love as an accomplishment, society as par, life at par.