the first thought was a crime, images of torso on a stake and a head wrapped in rubber. second is the first man to turn into ground beef in space, so the next time something returns, it is either a natural scent or of his. you'd never tell. the first man to break his own shin if it means poking away a reptile in his lady's way some sunday morning's stroll.

no wonder these days it tickles in sleep. birds of a feather drop their seeds this way too?

must have saved empires from eager fire in a previous life to have been sent you. either a death or a final warning, you're the rosary bead i hang off my tongue.

what if i eat one of your kidneys? this way you'll never be ever away, filtering what shouldn't dwell out through the pores

you wanna drool on his cock so bad. see if you could come up with more words to pull out a giggle. tell me what this vibe of yours is you roll on. aren't we all here playing dress ups?

/ it's the first i'm hearing this, so thank you very much for the enlightenment. feels good to see writers looking after another.

the father who stepped up. unfeeling, loved nonetheless. towering nonetheless. spiders do eat cake these days

posthumous memoirs of bras cubas by machado de assis. makes aftermemories feel like mere flitting fever dreams. you're a worm, mother gaia looks down like you're a silly thing

then perhaps the help, by tate taylor. something about rewatching this these days.

heard it's piss yellow, heard you smell moss on boards you carry under a pit. hold a wrist of mine and see what's back there one of these days? if we're lucky we get to stay.

give it a few tomorrows for the purpose of understanding what it begins to mean, now or at the time, or why they were there at all & neither of us will be the one to remember. thank you, for this thought at all.

the favourite by yorgos lanthimos.

coke. coke and milk, lots of it despite being against each other. beef sausages. a couple of shillings to last a meager week. stack them in the right angle you'd forget you're hungry in the first place.

anything? if at all she's one of the few sweet things on the tongue these days, buds have been stale and sparse. come around often, he could use more acid.