Chip it. Wet like towel wet. Scream and stand behind the screen. Chip it. Wake up, damp, dull detrimental, and damned. Before the sun, sing it. Your joints need oiling. Your lips, lubrication. And you sit in the treetops and sing a song that sounds like, "sex sexxxx seeeexxx sex sex." Rejoin, rekindle, reconstitute that bad attitude. Let's sew buttons on your bad layers and bundle you up, new fashion, high fashion. We could all lose some weight, and the song repeats. Smudges, eyeliner, night before on wrist, hip, red hair, blue star. Crime scene, life before coffee.
You've got an ugly mug and I can paint anything gold.
Monday, February 9, 2009
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