Good morning, sunshine.
Put Yourself Out of My Misery
You think you're beautiful. You're not. You smell of dried cum and hollow victory, but no one seems to notice over the sickening smell of purple prose. You've cultivated your image as a sensitive poet and your face is perfectly posed to emphasize the bow of your top lip, the big soulful eyes wet with sincerity. Oh, but aloof. Just enough to listen to their woes, offer carefully crafted comments full of advice and ride away into the night, leaving them wanting more. You sit in your darkening room, still glistening from your latest conquest, and write, brother, write. It doesn't mean anything if you can't allude to it. It doesn't mean anything even though you do. You're one black turtleneck away from being the most nauseating kind of predatorial artfag to stalk the earth, but hell. It's summer. All in good time. Everything you do and everything you are will get you laid. You don't think anybody notices. Somebody does. Even if they wait until they've got you with your ass in the air and your face in the pillow screaming like a spurned siren to tell you what a worthless, pseudo intellectual piece of shit you are. Are those pink hearts in their eyes or daggers? You're too blinded by your own hype to know for sure. This is where I tweak your sweet little nose and ask you to chew off your own hands at the wrists.
Use Your Tits And Not Your Mouth
So open minded, so free, such a beautiful little bird, perfect and willing. So sexy. Skin like cream I want to drag my finger through it and taste how smooth, how sweet. But it leaves a mark and for once it's not my fault. It's just your gorgeous coating coming off. You're a vapid, shallow little dolly, but you string those words together with earnest. Some people believe that you're wise, but it's less wisdom and more inspirational phrases gleaned from a variety of greeting cards and fortune cookies. You're jaw-droppingly sanctimonious and judgemental, even with those numbers ticking over on your bedpost. "I hate you for being hateful." You're so hypocritical that I think your features are splitting off to fully accentuate both faces. But both so pretty.
Slutgardening 101
Stop choking on sugar and start nibbling rose petals. Not mine, though, you fuck.
MM
You think you're beautiful. You're not. You smell of dried cum and hollow victory, but no one seems to notice over the sickening smell of purple prose. You've cultivated your image as a sensitive poet and your face is perfectly posed to emphasize the bow of your top lip, the big soulful eyes wet with sincerity. Oh, but aloof. Just enough to listen to their woes, offer carefully crafted comments full of advice and ride away into the night, leaving them wanting more. You sit in your darkening room, still glistening from your latest conquest, and write, brother, write. It doesn't mean anything if you can't allude to it. It doesn't mean anything even though you do. You're one black turtleneck away from being the most nauseating kind of predatorial artfag to stalk the earth, but hell. It's summer. All in good time. Everything you do and everything you are will get you laid. You don't think anybody notices. Somebody does. Even if they wait until they've got you with your ass in the air and your face in the pillow screaming like a spurned siren to tell you what a worthless, pseudo intellectual piece of shit you are. Are those pink hearts in their eyes or daggers? You're too blinded by your own hype to know for sure. This is where I tweak your sweet little nose and ask you to chew off your own hands at the wrists.
Use Your Tits And Not Your Mouth
So open minded, so free, such a beautiful little bird, perfect and willing. So sexy. Skin like cream I want to drag my finger through it and taste how smooth, how sweet. But it leaves a mark and for once it's not my fault. It's just your gorgeous coating coming off. You're a vapid, shallow little dolly, but you string those words together with earnest. Some people believe that you're wise, but it's less wisdom and more inspirational phrases gleaned from a variety of greeting cards and fortune cookies. You're jaw-droppingly sanctimonious and judgemental, even with those numbers ticking over on your bedpost. "I hate you for being hateful." You're so hypocritical that I think your features are splitting off to fully accentuate both faces. But both so pretty.
Slutgardening 101
Stop choking on sugar and start nibbling rose petals. Not mine, though, you fuck.
MM