Untitled

adult rituals to be performed to Rick Wakeman involving pendulous appendages, scented candles, ripaway Thunder From Down Under pants, manzilian, piggytails, granny panties and polka dot socks

ain’t love grand?

turmoil wrapped in turbulent emotional breakdowns of tears, cottage cheese, sunbreros, sonic toothbrushes, milk spongebaths and murky dish water.

sometimes it hurts

my ears ring in silence while drums thump inside my head. oh whereforeart your ass, Romeo? speak softly and show us your giant stick…of gum

hummanahummana

discarded glitter from david lee roth’s stage costume, can emptiness really be this meaningful? let’s dance on graves to find out

for thine is the kingdom

he’s on his way over and your booty just accepted a collect call from prison. get me a powder puff and some lip stick, i want to look pretty while you push my face down into a pillow and i secretly wish it was a glittering refreshing pool from which i don’t come up for air

sick as a godzilla

never ever shall we part until i run off into paranoia neurotic eroticism and disgrace

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