“i just met the swellest dame… she smacked me right in the kisser.”
the glass key ’42

bending twisting trying the make the edges sharper like a samuri suicide pact strings tied on every finger and still cant remember what went wrong cant function unless buried get the shovel youve got a lot of digging to do i think she feels forced and in turn so do i because im sick of swinging while watching others climb into tunnels smoke in the air carbon dioxide in the air even the trees are letting off steam most nights the lines keep getting longer like last year

its all just a build up for nothing

you cant call blood then forfiet for semen there are holes everywhere like a dam but no pebble, rock, or finger is ever going to pacify it