

don't call the cops...Choke me with those delicate toes. Tell me a funny story and bruise my thighs. I'll give you my mouth and a handful of cloves. Swollen lips, smoking fingers, wet feet-- momentarily complete.don't call the cops...


A story about wasteBlooms hang dry over her. She is your blushing Venus, expansive hips and pillow lips, and you tremble when she blinks or bites her lip or runs a fleshy finger over your eyelids when you're sleeping. When she is bringing you tea while you sit hunched over your typewriter, ink stained fingers digging at your scalp, you can smell her coming up the stairs. Rose and dust and that light woman-sweat that you men know nothing about but fall for anyway. It makes you forget what you dead wife smelled like. She subtly signifies on your clichés and silence and chunky sweaters and heat rushes to your cheeks but you smile. You won't take criticism from anyA story about waste


AsphaltAsphalt was his only friend.Asphalt
He banged against it, sweat pouring from his not-so-limber feet and legs bounced up and down, up and down. Trees whipped past in a blur and the world seemed to be in slow motion. The faster he went, the slower time passed.
The smell of salt and the heavy, slick paste of blood filled his nostrils and tickled his chest. Instead of leaving bread crumbs, he left a path of blood.
Finally falling to his knees, dripping panting swirling crying dying, he could barely remember his mother's eyes as she slid the knife into his flesh, a quarter slicing into a vending machine. She'd worn
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We know everything about art except how to enjoy it! [link]
edacval Fer
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victim, victim, victim.
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`ArtistsForCharity
~You Must Be The Change You Wish To See In The World. ~ M. Gandhi~
Whatever. I'll czech you out anyway.
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`ArtistsForCharity
~You Must Be The Change You Wish To See In The World. ~ M. Gandhi~
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....
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this is a lonesome place for one like you.
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