Crossing Toes

My head feels like ground meat, my hands feel like spinach, I feel like you left overs.
You know the kind of girl she is, I would die a million deaths before I would let her have you.
I need the cum and caffine to make it through the day, aparently I damned it all to hell but never fear.
Shut the door and lay me down, never touch me there, too spaced out to know your gone.
The stars danced for me, and the fruits rotted away, take it one more time then never again.
Im the genie from inside that cardboard box,1 wish,2 wish, forget about the 3rd.
Burn like a sinner, reincarnation is the best way to break clean, come as a petal falling from my flower.
I have gnawed of my fingers, left with bloody palms, wish me luck I will crossing toes.
This would has stopped spinning just for you, find comfort in her arms, I will find comfort in this gun.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Your prose has a dark, disturbing element to it that comes through in your carefully selected words.
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