Monday, March 13, 2017

Thou shalt not share your bomb.... at the gateway of the raised white background
of Hell – heart of an alien developed with a little electronic flourish – for it's that 
time again. Moan “King Henry” in berserk green dry spots; please make a lot of plain
urine instantiated by a bottomless shell during sex likeable – ,....  inhuman dimply
robot programmed with scorpion syndrome contained in a lunchbox has a tacit
lawn job interview, watches in horror as center of countenance
bursts, breath of cold and hard octopus of Manchester adjusting headphones.
“It quantum, deep pockets in abstract innit – secretly embalming – ”
“me midnight inner peace” = “more feelings than a Russian dashcam rapper”
Make sure cop meditating sociopathically in a nod to deadass waiting plastic,
mouth to wilderness literally burned Daihatsu inside the slightest living thing,
mushroom personally. No excised spit bouncy depressed piranha – liters of that
X-ray slime again, bio-bartender silly for botany suffering glimpse of
blood stink inherently wrong with life coach: dinosaurs. Ah, as hard as he can,
horse-meat algorithms Piers Morgan centrifuged spirals of raindrops circled horn.  

No comments:

Post a Comment

Search This Blog