Touch is love

Touch is love

Someone said once

But all the feeling I get out of someone

Is a weird flab of back fat.

I’m not as skinny anymore

And the weasel that lives in my drawers

Wet nutting in public

Just a gab of grace

Old cunts talking down

About and with every little aspect.

Who the fuck paid you to be cranky?

Oh, her family is rich.

40 grand for rent.

Like you deserve here

Like you don’t want more

Maybe the care of

Cutting your toenails every 3 weeks.

Like, the last profession I chose

Is skanky dirty old fuck

And I’ll be there in a year

To bypass and sidestep

Every rejected from normality

I do suppose there is some superiority involved

Dad knows I won’t pay off the back lot

But to build a shack for the kellerhuis men

They’d downplay and say

So this fucking shack,

Is for just you?

Nope, that’s why I’m asking.

I think your devotion to location

And support in building

blue balls forever.

My lack of ferver

The death of grandma…

Eighteen weeks at least.

Don’t tell her there’s a countdown

I’d rather mindfuck her discourse over supper.

Chopping up the divvy

In condolences to many

We’re just like the rest

But barely above

And so active as to…

Rule my world

Someone come to aid

The more I produce…


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