yo, that's wack if i'm not the baddest


profile * old * mail * fucking sign it* or how about a nice note? you go forward / i'll go backwards


he blushed exactly like the color of jennys fuschia prom dress perspiration discolorings. i grabbed at his hair but it was too short to pull. he yelped and worried about bald spots while i shoved in in my pocket for later observation in a labratory. the speedway was closed because of the rain but he raced around the house like we werent smelling of rancid buildings downtown portsmouth. we counted the change in the coffee cans and found we had twenty dollars to live on for the next three weeks. tv commercial promising larger breasts, covered genitals, and shifted into fifth. Nena, 1987, kissing in the mustang. blurry waterdamaged letter. were you in war? no reply. should i pack this? sour look. no?

want to, one last time before we go? snowy boots, snow snow. you cant make it melt, not at all. we arent good kissers. we're like mashed potatoes. mush mush mush. your car totally turns me on. vrrooom. mine is expensive and you cant stain the leather seats and it never smells like you after. it just smells like money. my parents sweat green dollar bills onto their pillow cases and evenly distribute it amongst eight hands. 1982 would bring your parents a baby that would learn to hate everything, that would learn to use and break people. 1982 would try to hate me but i'm impossible.

d-land