neutral
08-09-2014, 05:17 PM
Failike. I'm not liking how much I might dislike you, distantly. I want to punch and excite you, literally. I want to keep you, distally. You're distilled peculiarity. This still is peculiar and me - I'd slap you with disdain until your panties are distained. Acting cute is lame. Your attributes match that of Ving Rhames - on smoothies and apple juice, loosely, a lapis lazuli acting a prude but it's actually a ruse, see? Contact lenses: you're not really that blue, b. On that premise: my nuts steely like Bruce Lee. Your nuts really amuse me. You're nothing. You're groovy; slut in a jacuzzi pumping the uzi like a thug in a movie. Move me. Move, please, you drool like a floozie.
Don't know what I'm writing. Posture like lightning, I'm often just writing - pop a line break and drop in a hyphen - I'm often just writing to drop in a hymen. No line breaks, no lime and no lemon, would climb up to heaven but the size of my melon makes my wise cerebellum tell my spine to forget it. Forget you. You animal: lesser demon, Hannibal Lecter's semen, cannibal, rectum bleeding and you managed to smell it's leaking. You're an arab-faced twat with a pancake ass and a band aid stamped across your left nipple. Or testicle. Your unmentionables. Such as 'whore', 'menstrual' or poor vegetable that forcibly entered you. Enter: puke. I sicken myself. You're sicker, you held a courgette hostage. Yikes, I think I ought to stop this bland madness. You're a snot witch and haggard. I wiped the hairs from your top lip on a blank canvas. I once worked with a man who thought my span Spanish.
Uhm, my abs are tungsten: I'm handsome, hung and manic, shut up. Let's meet in a room with no panic button and mean to consume every average substance or leave the cocoon when our fabrics touching. Don't panic, button. Stones clinking like bones. Drones living life prone - you're not here. I spot fear in the quiver of your iris. I'm top tier. Spit upon papyrus. I pity what divine is. You're shifting from the silence afraid of what the rhythm of your mind is. Mindless. Shitting on ya highness even if the sire's Set. I'm fire, fret. You're diabetic. I'm dire, bet it. Cigarette your dialect when I'm erected.
Try again, bitch.
Don't know what I'm writing. Posture like lightning, I'm often just writing - pop a line break and drop in a hyphen - I'm often just writing to drop in a hymen. No line breaks, no lime and no lemon, would climb up to heaven but the size of my melon makes my wise cerebellum tell my spine to forget it. Forget you. You animal: lesser demon, Hannibal Lecter's semen, cannibal, rectum bleeding and you managed to smell it's leaking. You're an arab-faced twat with a pancake ass and a band aid stamped across your left nipple. Or testicle. Your unmentionables. Such as 'whore', 'menstrual' or poor vegetable that forcibly entered you. Enter: puke. I sicken myself. You're sicker, you held a courgette hostage. Yikes, I think I ought to stop this bland madness. You're a snot witch and haggard. I wiped the hairs from your top lip on a blank canvas. I once worked with a man who thought my span Spanish.
Uhm, my abs are tungsten: I'm handsome, hung and manic, shut up. Let's meet in a room with no panic button and mean to consume every average substance or leave the cocoon when our fabrics touching. Don't panic, button. Stones clinking like bones. Drones living life prone - you're not here. I spot fear in the quiver of your iris. I'm top tier. Spit upon papyrus. I pity what divine is. You're shifting from the silence afraid of what the rhythm of your mind is. Mindless. Shitting on ya highness even if the sire's Set. I'm fire, fret. You're diabetic. I'm dire, bet it. Cigarette your dialect when I'm erected.
Try again, bitch.