curbdrop out of grace

i'm only as good as you forget me.

in the winter, the sluts wear just enough clothes to stay warm. after all, no guy wants to fuck eskimo pussy.

there should be a law against working more than 9 hours. unless you're a slave in which case it isn't really work because you're not really getting paid.

i'm not pro slavery, i'm just pro whipping animals who resemble football players.

o.j. simpson, where are you now?

you shouldn't worry so much

i'm only as good, as you forget me. i'm only as good as you. forget me. i'm only as good as you forget, me. i'm only as good.

i write really good short stories but they always end premature, as if they were supposed to be novels. broken hearts and butterflies wind down at the end of the nite. with billy holiday crooning in the background the sound of chatter with laughter clatter against walls as the soon falls crippled from fright of hindsight. where the words whip like finger tips against the backless neck against the fret of friction sliding against the barrier of sound melodic and meloncholy like the man in the mirror, clearer with the television turned down. goodnite and goodbye and if i never see you again, well then that will be by choice for bitter and for worse gravity will rise again and when the clock strikes twelve and you turn into a phantom your beauty will fall seesawed by a blade made on sunnier days.

posted by fillshe @ 10:23 PM