I sit, bedside, read in the surface Of my mirror, and I wipe away the palette of dirt from my face, Pull the arrow from my back, the blackout velvet from my eyes; So close. You’re the one the day forgot, Scott, the graze on my bottom lip, the Swell of love somewhere in me. When I wish what for; The blood down her legs - you’re in the rain, o whore!
Leanne Bridgewater I skinvest in huski, like my dress it’s a DIOR? Why it’s not new, I can’t afford new. It’s the dead lady’s down the road. She was murdered. By me. Cheaper that way. “natural causes” – material is the maternal of the earth. You once knew her as Betty.
FURRY TEETH