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In a bit of a witty mood Attitude becomes rude and crude Flipping tables, tearing down stables Preparing for morning cartoons Full bowl of cereal unreels my lethal cerebral. Toons blast till noon then on to serial killing the reaper. Neither of us has the guts to spill but a collection of skulls to fill my thrill. Direction is lust, thrust, fulfill Infection, it must, cuss then spill. Spilt milk all over the floor and it shows Tinted windows glassed over your souls Splinted pinholes rashes clovers too cold Tilted milk pours over watch it loathe

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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