When and One time merely, Upon a Dream

Quilted the seams of sheets laying laid and in-between with “limited” nuclear war to be seen and this according to a U.S. General staff that everyone here but Carissa, Ember, Elise, Paul, Ron, etc., yeah, they’re nice to me, but the other jerks here at “Averte” they are TRASH ball-point A+ hemmed little silly silk sheets, those sheets of papyrus and paper, I have met The Creator, God, who maybe only exists or existed for a while, many hours, in time of passed, and to the test, we have ME! NO THC!

And I hate the pathetic residents, except for only Josh and Marie, for me to see every couple days, and once having drank at a bar named “Days End” in Oxford, MA many years ago, I have to be accredited and Show of White Ponies to hone in on the incentive device to Mannie “a mermaid” she She SPLASH! and because she’s against Diet and her so Sugary Sweet, the “Sprite” drink, her in Pink, willingly wiggling her toes, when the this she knows, I wanted to give her some of my PROFITS with Stocks and “Crypto” but she said, “No… and thank you for the complex complication” of a tanned perfection, performed with Spritzy “perfume” to the Tomb of the Queen, shown on TV!” and which ‘Mantha her complexion looking so beautiful…

Picking pencils from the colored “Trey” of da’ hood whereas me sitting keen on making money with Investing, I seem preoccupied with my own leads… a leaded perception of preoccupation with that tanned-Nation, it being Islam that a wrestler Dan Besse- him so flashy and well more than a scam, I was told to SCRAM – I bled with eggs of amputees, a scars or two in my skull, damaged for used, that I seek a used Tesla with a payment I hope was made, by Daniel, that hopefully so I’m not being “Played” for hoping he accrues me of accusations to reach beyond God, when I would prod a teen 18+ or 21+ I hope for a smoothie material girl who matters like Marshal Mathers, I need a sweet and not-too-tall, chick who can emulate a Hoover, that damn, she sucks at her Crochet works of wood-be tip-top shape and her showing me “NO SHADE”!

But do the dramps match the carpeting in the room?  A pissed off little PU$$Y to itty-bitty Heavens-To-Betsy (and thanks to Bank-sy, he’s An Artist, my “Bestie”…) pissing out of it, through it, before my magic DIGITS 596-4311 cause a candle to flicker, my my my don’t Bicker any Thickness in the Dictionary, for I am not a fairy and I am not a Twink 😉 that I await Justine Aragona or “Tiph” D. To me when I hope she and her guppie friends gulp the chardonnay (not in the car though, driving, you know, so GO SLOW!) to this very day and night when I may I might, grab the Mic and sing with a Thing of a paralyzed vocal cord, albeit Karaoke Classes near, here, and at “Averte” I say: I had a fully paralyzed left vocal cord in 2004 when I WAS “SET-UP” TO NEAR-DEATH OF MINE… which is not fine, when I’m not in a Dorm or a Housing “Astral Projection” of brain cells saying their final words, when I saw- I say- “Drinking Cough Syrup for the DXM is not okay!” So hey put down the bottle and throttle her head instead to release the relentless oral whamming, jamming, and an Islami-Army Slamming-run of a HIT oh this is it- the Oral-B toothbrush and sucked SUCH when I could have so much more in the Apple store, of skipping hard drives, rev-rev-rev that poor Reverend Chase, he’s out-accelerating Derek in his Porsche!

Us with full heads of hair up there atop our skulls, our hair is still there and will be not-vanished when maybe purchasing an “Aston Martin” their Vanquish-vehicle of years ago, driving To the store with an afro picked, that the animals are hungry for a “HUNGRYMAN DINNER” in the frozen case at the Market picking up a missed-carriage of Basked Basket carrying the 1% chocolate milk and pouring the rest of my Citrucel laxative down the sink and the drain, getting Super-Soaked with the lyrics of: of “crack” and “crank” with Soulja Boy Tell’em – Crank That (Soulja Boy) (Official Music Video)

Tiptronic shifters and Sheik Shaving and driveways, highways, etc. like parking perusal for a space, and PAVING with Gillette Fusion Shaving I’m craving the smooth skin, and my pumped-up and pumping tunes, my heart WITHIN my pectoral-muscles proud and me not now typing madly but I have enough legitimate-sanity to leave out the ol’ sticky-icky of the pair of pants made by that Company: Dickies the clothing making shake ’n’ bakers of my massive about my amounts of banking with Banksy’s art-work abroad, him in France or somewhere like I’m a Frenchman with my kisses on the toots of my tooting Horn to the Y in this single-laden preoccupation with POV porn, I do it nearly-daily, and you know Eminem as “Slim Shady” so long ago, him with “Kim” his Ho!

Tether Bitcoins galore in my “crypto”-storage Merrill or Pacilio Wealth Management, and a great individual Dan- yeah in him to thanks Danny B. you to the DMV: Dave Matthews “Van” of a Dodge this “Caravan” of ample sandy shores being applauded and implored with a collection of fishing lured-into-it, my Dad, he got me in-on profiting through business with millions of dollars, his yellowish “ring so holler” around him and his cooling a Turtle-Neck while he’s C.-sized upon shortly after birth, but maybe I should keep away from discussing the squishy-wishy SIZE, and mine own creation of me, in, not 1983 — but 1982 — this is all for you!

And to my awesome Aunt Donna Donohue, thank you so much!
Rest In Peace your Mickey Donohue, your Mom and Dad, and Ida and Ray, and sweet Sarita!

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