I always never have time, so I smoosh everything into everything else.  Just like modern day, the way you look at other people really changes as you age.  Take modeling, for example, the small things we do when being at stared, are the kindest things. The nonsense para estoy ustedes, no matter.  The truth is often in extremely tall order.

But novice talk among the overhyped untrue makes the droning time seem heavy, irate, innate, I hate the way it hovers like bugs on a bee sting overleaf.  

I saw her like a sudden jungle.  The warm and the moist were the humid distractors in the hobby kit of lust forming danger clauses in my tongue.

I sharpened her goodbye.  There would never be such a dilly between us.  I would broker an unbroken silence, the path of little-known shy protectors.  The violent silence we keep so wrapped around our shortened egos and expensive socks.  Like woven warmth we never show, A violin extravaganza.  A movie that Will is Hunting on Mars.  

So night is here and her dusty bin of cadence comes like sleep knots in my eyes.

I farce the squeeze in moments to push the smelly meat into fabric sleep behind us.

To love her is to mess her up.  And the wild mass of electric is dull without her sleeping soundly by your molten side.

I will go to sleep now, minions.  I shall sleep the time like peckers peck the items being pecked, pickled pecks, and puffy pecs.

Sheep can't count me to sleep. I have egos to wipe!