I want it to be Halloween. Pick a suitable costume. Throw me some fucking candy. All the zombie trees whisper things too fast for my witchy fingers to fly. You could come to me disguised as a carton of milk. There’s a picture on you of a missing girl. I guess you know she’s me.
Flagged For Removal
My ad was flagged for removal, not sure why. I was seeking sexy correspondence, nothing serious or contagious. “Donations accepted,” I did specify that. No tits were shown, no ass no cunt no American cheese logo or dollar signs. It isn’t like I went on about my favorite songs and the flavor of my disenchantment. You would think I was a plate of soggy nachos. Underneath such circumstances any clown could die.
Allergic To Sky
Life was so much easier when Mommy stuck me inside a cardboard box, when Daddy shut me up with good girl porridge and his Alice Cooper 8-track really fucking loud. Now I’m naked and wobbly, itchy and feverish beneath so much sky. I could go for a quilt and a milkshake. Vanilla. Chocolate. Whatever you’ve got.