Pitch a tent street-side to drift and stride, so zero “rent” with my Mom and Dad who’ve moved me away, years ago—that’s many days—and a few years, albeit as it may, to the, me, the eye of the tigress testing the what water does drip, drink from the sink, put that on paper with a squid’s ink, black, dribbling like swaying silk, that I go through so much 1% chocolate milk, without any alcohol, to drink, tick-talk
A better and more better—being or away that’s more gooder—ahem, WRITER, I be, and all about me and my life, of TBI’s relentless strife, but never falling on scissors, step-sister’s, of what came and become, homeless change for a numb bum, with a keepsake kiss on each cheek, maybe every day of the strong living I do, and all be bye-ing and buying (Bitcoin) to the Southern Sun… fully within and without that “Comfort” aka SoCo, I eat the Puffs of chocoletey goodness, bereft, that I always skip breakfast!
So quit it fast or I will be the last thing upon your nilly mind, when I’ll back-side up-slap the critter crap out of one’s bitter and tiny crevist, all the way in- up to my wrist, pulled fist—being somewhat shitty, when abused and sexually molested, that Alex requested the methamphetamine, all his dream of drugging, and him and me doing the deed of Mr. Deedy, our being greeted with a lot of hugging—and me miffed when Alex gave him a kiss on the lips and he thrusted his hips into Mr. Daddy—all alone with parents who didn’t speak English—although Michelle is beautiful and normal—Alex was abnormal, him a mere steroid-freak mortal, with whatnot but some snorted crystals—sorry I missed you my loyal readers, being stirred and stirring… yeah the egg-beaterz, and pulling “heaters” at the seat of the crime—his and my behinds, outright assaulted of intellect, when I was a little, only lightling umm erect and bereft of pleasure when I choose to feel breasts on ladies’ chests—I wish for the best of aughtright intellect withstanding, I haven’t slipped in the shower lately, thanks to the hand-railing… the Water drips me ailing like it’s raining it’s pouring and post-haste I be asleep and stored (but not stoned!) loudly and louder snoring, when my writing becomes boring, just over and over and on/and or ON when I think of Sean both seeders leeching, and beached- that whale in the news, me up early/late at this date of females being brewing and hairy, got me staring with what “Cares” caressed a needle found best, on the DJ’s turntable of vinyl records, that me with no criminal activity, always here at “Averte” and feeling a proclivity to have a big-tittied tramp and trapped her here, with my lockened door—I need chocolate milk and Monster no-carb drinks and to drink, aha them, when I’ve ordered a $315 Mont Blanc pen, being un-recieved, should I order one again?
