Aiming on point and not to the astray clashes of Int’l Navel forces, the spring of the ring, the hoop- in that skinny bellie on a Chickie like Justine, pierced without a sister, or Step-Siblings I don’t care about because, and I watch Moms and nothing tiny like B.S. that ass, bereft of any bullshit coming from me, for I tell the truth with straight intentions, a straight face, and a straight video only, wishing for Justine again, so read the post of lovely Anne Skinner, saying I’m a best friend, of hers, her in words when on the phone to enjoy our chatting—get attling with the Tic-Tac’s and my scars- instead of “Tats” and my battle-wounds shifted up with a red Solo cup, a stack, on the counter when the staff gets in which is no problem at all, unless they’re—pulling Bull Shit like the “tiny” Briana Sasso of Mikey’s and my saying to his dateing partner, “Hey baby” that was a mistake and I plan on paying my family and friends and the employees here, with many Doctors of me, of mine, I’m fine, and I’m an organ Donor with a puffed up chest as per the IGF-1 LR3 I got it pure to Love my Rights and lovely nights of P-hub to take a Tube of Colgate Optic White, to brush that now hush... I’m browsing and thanks for reading my poetry, prose, etc.
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