Chicken Breast
Turned a madafakin’ artist
everything has a meaning, an end, to begin, my strange and seductive rituals, people come people go but more come before I come in their face
Vegan burgers, I stuff with my bare hands, calling friends, hashtags, lots of rolling dips, and no one has noticed, not even this ex something, used to call her little bird love, now a picture, vintage of course.
It’s all trendy, gotta fill my Medium responsibilities, 331 dead followers, but wait, the story is not about me, why should I be texting the very upper class to standstill while I chickened souped accidentally, stuffed her boobs and called it a physical examination, now with the Dr. I can drink sex and drive into a new rule of nature.
WTF I want.
A psychopath forgot that this exhilaration is a damn short-lived chapter and all off the suicidal bombs ticking behind, somewhere point a blaming finger.
Hell yeah, healing time.
It’s too late, outmonstering the monster under the bed, she’s fucking ugly hehe even J.D. Harms didn’t swallow her sex upon the lonely night and hand was waving outside the window, for daddy pocket money just to excuse a bit of affection with an exclamtion mark yeah that’s right, cake, chocolate cake for my 3rd birthday in jail, someone mentioned and starved to death penalty.
