Not much to tell but a lot to say.

Love poems are that bitter. Medicine that makes me want. In my mouth; my taste buds. Are sensitive, they have zero. Spices and tangy fruits; my. Disgust, my mouth brews saliva,. At the touch of salt overdose,. And my throat ejects it. Like a car with closed windows. And the odour of seat covers. Made of leather filling my lungs.

Now, he is pregnant. We yelled silently at each other,. Practiced in the art of brawl. 8216;Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. How to tell her? January 1, 2017.

Because your virginity belongs to the society.

The Ramblings of a Potty Mouth. The Ramblings of a Potty Mouth. Poetry, Stories, Opinions and Such. Dead Upon the White House Lawn. He was just the son of a fat cat and happily took his birth right. He checked off his stocks and made sure his toupee was tight;. He had to sit and listen to those awful ecologists talk,. You aint gunna trump no more! Gory, Gory, gunna kick his orange arse. String him by the flag pole. And make him eat his pants. You aint gunna Trump no more.