Friday, May 2, 2014

Turn Up For Satan

Bodily fluid is cohesive. Enlarged blood is made by murder.
With a sharpened breadstick, Jesus nailed each pearlized crypto-diaper of his to a silver elephant like a small, sour patch of green.
Pleasant vagina-animal vinyl. Complex crackles foregoing the virgin mothlady's metaphorical metamorphosis.
Trash lights up as an emotional Voltron loads bone from a metal scrapbook.
Death-decals discolor the bathroom. Diffused in shades of cruelty's smeary smegma-sequences.
Social situations strangle a fleshy potplant in the middle of the poolhall.
The obscene transplant blends with where the onboard computer feels wet.
Stimuli absorbed from the rabbit's head in a projectile continuation of orphans failing McDonald's post-modern poop-inkblot menu.
The seizure happened again but not since unhinging a muffled crescendo warning from the prey's stitching. Jingling manually like the earlier, best work of Satan. 

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