no correlation

One soft fuzzy touch against green sweater.

I've got uncertain palms and motives shooting up into the roof, fueled by alcohol and disorder.

Pin the poppet.

//You sang Forty-six and two, the chromosomes swirling about, the shadow - third evolutionary phase, self-sex, and the AC. We all want to penetrate walls. A thin strawberry smell collaborates a wave in front of my screen, and I reminisce of the time I almost plunged into a school for the head.//

Where'd that special woman go?

Her and her drunkard friend, the one with rose blossom cheeks and a bottle of sweet red scotch... They've been loose from me since I tainted a motorcycle with my presense.

Ignore the smoke,

Ignore the smoke

this is crap.