So....got super ripped and this came out. No seriously ripped. Look at my eyes....ripped.
Take another hit...a lighter flicks, a black bic takes flame from the air and sets it neatly in the palm of your quivering hand. Inhale deep plumes of smoke, and exhale truth and desire, problems and strife, anger and grief, that time you were fingered uncomfortably in the cab of your truck. Eyes dancing a waltz in the rolling of your ebb and flow. Simmering to boil in high altitudes, you limp and subdued. A face in your fog, a disconcerting stare haunts the back of your neck. Standing on end so as not to wet yourself in tears. This is my discomfort, this is the lonely morning. Chaste is not my strong-suit. Problematic from the point of conception, this fetus must be led astray, for we are all born evil beings. Beings that must be bent to the will of the state of things. A bible belt snaps the tender flesh to welts as the boot on your face grinds deeper, harder, like a crazed S/M party and the gimp has arrived just in time. God as their witness, we will hang this jury tonight, and burn every witch in the paraffin light. Caligula would be so proud of what we've all accomplished, together we will rule the back alleys and the dirty thirties, and the taste of your own cum lingers still on your lips and on your tits. Are we there yet, are we there yet? How much further till we hit the bottom, how many more days until a hatchet attack? We shall flail through the street lights dim tinny glow, laughing at loves lost cause, screaming to the vast empty beauty of it all. We are sick, intoxicated robots trying to fuck with water based lubrication, sure to short out but going for broke for the fuck of it. As I try to make sense of the 500lb gorilla suit sitting in my skeletons' closet I know that...when the time comes...nothing will happen.
Gnite to all the fleshmonkeys
Take another hit...a lighter flicks, a black bic takes flame from the air and sets it neatly in the palm of your quivering hand. Inhale deep plumes of smoke, and exhale truth and desire, problems and strife, anger and grief, that time you were fingered uncomfortably in the cab of your truck. Eyes dancing a waltz in the rolling of your ebb and flow. Simmering to boil in high altitudes, you limp and subdued. A face in your fog, a disconcerting stare haunts the back of your neck. Standing on end so as not to wet yourself in tears. This is my discomfort, this is the lonely morning. Chaste is not my strong-suit. Problematic from the point of conception, this fetus must be led astray, for we are all born evil beings. Beings that must be bent to the will of the state of things. A bible belt snaps the tender flesh to welts as the boot on your face grinds deeper, harder, like a crazed S/M party and the gimp has arrived just in time. God as their witness, we will hang this jury tonight, and burn every witch in the paraffin light. Caligula would be so proud of what we've all accomplished, together we will rule the back alleys and the dirty thirties, and the taste of your own cum lingers still on your lips and on your tits. Are we there yet, are we there yet? How much further till we hit the bottom, how many more days until a hatchet attack? We shall flail through the street lights dim tinny glow, laughing at loves lost cause, screaming to the vast empty beauty of it all. We are sick, intoxicated robots trying to fuck with water based lubrication, sure to short out but going for broke for the fuck of it. As I try to make sense of the 500lb gorilla suit sitting in my skeletons' closet I know that...when the time comes...nothing will happen.
Gnite to all the fleshmonkeys
thanks for the add. its nice to meet you