Poetry

1. 2019-03-02 at 6:28 PM UTC

   #1
   

   mashlehash victim of incest [my perspicuously dependant flavourlessness]

   Chill, he's going sour in the mind. Flipped, faded by the needle, sour in the soul this piece of cheese cake I cannot eat as I know exactly what is at your wait, a master of fate, disoriented by colors that play upon your tuition, talking about cowards with inhibition, scathered from the competition, delighted by his magnetivity, I do not play games, go show these nasty joes exactly what it means when you fuck with the wolf, exactly what it means when the wolf has a mind, and that mind has a state, and the state is so precious, I wish that I could neglect this. His voices speak character, and that character is provided, your messing with his testacles and he is not delighted. Rocking knocking healthy with adrenaline, it's a high for the oriented straight looking into your eyes, as if you compromised the policy that is not only written in english, but spanish too.
   
   You