masturbate, stick stick stick. tick tick tick. minorities fucking in living rooms, blades in trashcans, high on heroin. giggling at plasma screen with only narrow consumption. speed up the process. sit sit sit. orange peelings on the floor, cups full of piss and milk 'cause you're too lazy for bathrooms. stamp stamp stamp. cum on that man's titties, if you can. drink more beer, burn calories, late night jogs in lit areas. wooden rooms make you dream of days when bricks were never around. this place needs more blankets and less candles. the instant warmth out earns the smell of a candle. echo echo echo. road side bombs ready to break your fucking head off your shoulders. wrapped in month old garbage, filthy. you don't drink much anymore is what she wish she could tell me. smiles and lies. contrived pigeons, trying not to be scared of the boot heels of man. image hungry birds need more leftovers than space to walk. fuck no you're not safe here. you're a loose button, hanging by a thread, just thrown in the dryer. you'll fall off but you're not going anywhere, 'cause you're not shit. cum, cum, cum. dreams of fucking day and night fuel your eyes to stay awake when you're meant to roam around and interact. you don't need fucktards, you need orgasms. something to get you through the month. something to get you through the day. something to get you through the night. something to get you through the handshake and fake smile. i know some of your faces but none of your names. get intoxicated and sing with me. if you really want to know your neighbor you'll be a the tip of his dick in an hour. with each blast of cum you learn more and more about him. you really know someone when you've got them bent over on a bed post, trusting you to fill them with your flesh sword. you learn a lot about an individual when you've tasted their fluids. only for a few hours they may be a part of yourself. you carry with them in your belly bodily fluids that you aren't quite sure the name of. when you spit it, shit it, or piss it out you go back to reality and realize you are alone again. then comes the next night, you're liquored up and want to be somebody else. you look for the nearest orifice to stick your pathetic tongue inside. i know the story.
polaroids: Anemone + Men I Trust in Austin
13 hours ago