Square box!
Eleven feet tall
Twelve would scratch my comfort zone
Vapid! Words!
The end of whose
Meaning equals the end of mine
Twisting chaotic nerve fibers do clench me
Betwixt their firm bosoms
Wombs extrapolating the surest Answer(TM)
I can't rhyme that shit
Without delay!
Or the meandering focus
On this my ball of mudded morning risen
To invade the dark so goth
Like cheap mascara.
ERIS oh ERIS your name is like my middle name
Except it has no H, and I think I complete you.
Without cabbages, I'm pretty sure coleslaw would be edible.
Hump! Hump the end of morning!
And make sticky the stagnant Afternoon;
When daylight sets in and bakes the world.
Why the fuck do I have to work today?
It isn't your fault, ERIS.
Fucking cabbages. Right?
*<crash noises, the sound of GiGi Allin making philosophy with an electric can opener, and a crowd of people demanding refunds from a defective generic pop machine>*
ugh!
bump
because everybody else is dragging out the beatnik shit, so i'm gonna copy you.