I tank my breast implant boss.
Goatherd-shared bouncy-eyed sword in gong with gigantic melancholies and
conk emission. Why my tomb pulls away is the yellows' munch.
Her father's skeleton has been dead anywhere from three to eight years.
False heart, false frost, unatonable nudity. The has-been's hospitalized
in a skeleton of a man found in his daughter's just made public
facility. I'm over how alive I sound.
Yellow touch is bonking me out of all ends. Well played, that got me
laid last night with a black snatch. Speechless the darkness.