i wet my shoe in a flooded apartment

arik!!!!! gettin large hun

fedo, ho-hum

thanks

I found my religon

Throwin smoke bombs

Johnny got a one track mind

Lost in his clay mountains and cracked heads, his mentality seeps from a chasm into the grooves of vinyl. Ignited with blood and bruised fingers he laughs as the last racist washes his shoes in a pool of his past arrogance. The stare that watched him fail awakens to embrace the history of agony his soul endured, clay sticks to his canned wounds as the leaches turn around to finally do good instead of crawling in harmony to the beat of the last heart.

Sunken into her back, the grooves if a thousand longing fingers, searching for the void that keeps their knuckles swaying from space to space. Cast into their own worlds by battling families, the finger prods its way forward through holes in the spectrum, searching for connection with the flesh that quenches their touch "The perfect lips that glisten with envy and caresses their wounds from travels". Once found the finger strokes then leaves. His way is not clean, but his method is sound.

packin ducks

tokun

tachan

decks and dicks

swell

cuaght me sir