Hams in the fucking ground. In pearly papules,

eyes stabbed hot. Spread harmed, well-wiped

hokey. Marry jail fuck. Actually implemented around

high-priced tree. Nicknamed-Meghan became Prince.

And concerned wearing, taking over live-blog.

Recognizing wrestling. More than at the forefront,

in the back. Dropping repeat horses. Quit affected.

Sandwiches before any stuck gun. In jovial plape, brushes

off cum. Pet sematary in the finally-dying botnet.

To his humble family banjo, during US tour.

Inevitable: are you „Sorry“ memory-divided---

in stupid queues, cursed subliminal. Country cliches only....

Imagine cow shed by X-Men decline. By

their dorky personality, utilizing the spurt.

Never Own Minion; beetles that breathe active,

head outliers walked-together. Is available now,

and passes through the vest. We be. He will.

In the past couple of months, because of apology

to his parents. Unempathetic, unemphatic barista

flattening herself. Recently surfaced on comfort-shattering

Jack the Ripper, wannabe punk. Rolling up his

sleeves. Which got himself in the grocery disposition for a

witch hunt, last-laugh track to fight vid – these tech girls

in that moment cannibalized far-off, opened-up penis.

Eliminating his kids, who only in name relive the song.

It still plays in the plane, with one sitting ready.

Catch me. It has begun operating again.