look at 'em, titties
Friday, "Great Day of Blankets, '04" :: ama-ZINGER
Saturday, woke up w/ fever. what le fuck shit. slept all day.
Sunday, community service alllll day, yessir.
Monday, 8 to 5'in it, then drove home in rain, to almost take out the pretty Subaru in front of me, when my BRAKES WENT OUT.
Pulled a Fred Flinstone emergency foot brake, and coasted to Erik's, and traded him my scarf (it makes him feel pretty) and an apology for a ride home. Sheet.
Tuesday, Picked up my sorry Isuzu and coasted to Pr0-Auto, only to weep tenderly, as Rick, the brake man, pried my last 600 dollars from my wretched, newly broked all over again, grip. Promised to break my underground Isuzu Rodeo racing habit. Back to the booze for me. Needless to elaborate, slept all day.
Nothing more than well-tuned motions of the hand ~
Dead stares of bright eyes,
Gray eyes,
Foster our coldest necessities.
Drugged up
and Numb inches deep -
Don't it mean something when
I say,
I don't feel a thing?
Love's Justice
, served best, pink in the middle.
Pussy justice.
This mess laid
with my
filthy,
fat-knuckled hands,
it stinks and rots and curdles and smothers
and chokes.
Raise your fine-lined palms,
What have you done?
This time?
This time, it'll be so strange.
This time, it'll smell the same.
Fairway of grounding,
face
first
into
HUMILITY
of what shit we really have here.
Hands on hips,
lets
lets
lets do this
and stare.
What shit?
This shit,
that.
Love shits on my head.
---I know its lame.
Quote for the day: "I'm in the mood, are you ready?"
OOh! Oh! and, "Weeeeeeeeeeasle."
Saturday, woke up w/ fever. what le fuck shit. slept all day.
Sunday, community service alllll day, yessir.
Monday, 8 to 5'in it, then drove home in rain, to almost take out the pretty Subaru in front of me, when my BRAKES WENT OUT.
Pulled a Fred Flinstone emergency foot brake, and coasted to Erik's, and traded him my scarf (it makes him feel pretty) and an apology for a ride home. Sheet.
Tuesday, Picked up my sorry Isuzu and coasted to Pr0-Auto, only to weep tenderly, as Rick, the brake man, pried my last 600 dollars from my wretched, newly broked all over again, grip. Promised to break my underground Isuzu Rodeo racing habit. Back to the booze for me. Needless to elaborate, slept all day.
Nothing more than well-tuned motions of the hand ~
Dead stares of bright eyes,
Gray eyes,
Foster our coldest necessities.
Drugged up
and Numb inches deep -
Don't it mean something when
I say,
I don't feel a thing?
Love's Justice
, served best, pink in the middle.
Pussy justice.
This mess laid
with my
filthy,
fat-knuckled hands,
it stinks and rots and curdles and smothers
and chokes.
Raise your fine-lined palms,
What have you done?
This time?
This time, it'll be so strange.
This time, it'll smell the same.
Fairway of grounding,
face
first
into
HUMILITY
of what shit we really have here.
Hands on hips,
lets
lets
lets do this
and stare.
What shit?
This shit,
that.
Love shits on my head.
---I know its lame.
Quote for the day: "I'm in the mood, are you ready?"
OOh! Oh! and, "Weeeeeeeeeeasle."