Some 17157 countless days later, chocolate-chipped herself.
Last resort for sugarcoats.
Last chances, on top abandoned dusty shelves, forgotten hashtags all disorienting animalistic observations of humanistic personal cases in the laboratory of past-tenses-grammer-mistakes-don’t-matter-much-when-the-masks-of-life-are-pulling-too-tight-to-speak-the-heart-out-spill-the-guts-oh-no-how-I-supposed-to-know-to-balance-thin-lines-of-blocked-artery-leading-to-chambers-of-oxygen-cells-not-prison-the-self-doubt-to-shout-opera-of-Sardinian-coast-4formaggipizza-soft-pillow-hard-pill-to-swallow-when-Napoleon’s-willow-conquers-Elba-island-French-Italian-accent-to-be-practiced-in-blue-zones-life’s-good-next-blue-moon-I-promise-not-to-lose-another-chance-but-last-to-enhance-ducks-liver-fried-in-local-olive-oil-and-my-lifetime-bitter-spices-front-throat-lick-the-carnival-leftover-glitter.
Justin Bieber.
Yummy.
Endless laps for commercial traps.
Last chance to yes.
No thanks.
