Damn. Mother Nature has two sewage pipes coming out of her head. We made her suspect as hell! That hair though. Keep it going Mother, keep it going.
DAMN. SHE KEEPS IT CLASSY. She has the love trail. That little slice of womanhood. That little trail of “make love to me while you get some hair in your teeth and love it because you’re a super freak.” Damn. I love that.
Santiago Rebull. The Death of Abel, 1851.
Here’s what happened, this dude on the left was just hanging out, lounging in the sun, and this dickhead named Raley comes running through looking for his damn horse, and inconsiderately kicks and trips over poor Abel. Abel is over on the ground like, “Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have laid on the damn sidewalk. This is the fourth time today.” *Abel dies*
This dude on the left needs some motherfucking ChapStick with his bumpy dry ass lips.
All of those people are saying, “Damn, she never did anything like this when we went at it.” Or they’re thinking, “Damn, that’s one helluva black hole.” Or they’re not even thinking about her, and they’re thinking, “Those rocks have a nice shade of beige to them.”
Damn. That other man is lonely. Look at him. He’s just there. “Oh yeah guys, I don’t like the feeling of vagina underwater either. CoOOol. Gonna stare at my sad cock in the reflection of the water now.” *tear drips out of his penis*
Fuck this guy. Mostly because his girlfriend or wife or booty call (unlikely) is feeding him orange slices. And they look perfect. More perfect than her boobies. And it reminds me of Golden Girl by Frank Ocean. And damn I want that. And damn it feels good to be a gangster.
Long to roam the world
With my golden girl.
Tour the Taj Mahal
Stop in Chicago,
Tell my family of the travels.
All the nation treasures unraveled.
Soak up the moisture in Seattle
Hear local legends until the sound like babel.
Share my experience with my love.
Something we hold close.
The simple luxury of seeing things together.
Lay in a field somewhere in Cali.,
Look at clouds, and which ones look like animals.
Tell her I love her as much as she can handle.
Light candles, making messes, off with dresses in forests of bamboo.
I want recognition, for the positives.
Someone to free me from this mind I’m locked up in.
Cause there’s too many negatives.
Everything is becoming pessimistic.
Losing sight of anything simplistic,
And slightly beautiful.
Ah, you should see the view you are.
Don’t lose sight of who you are.
Don’t take reality way too far.
The bigger picture is overwhelming from afar.
So close your eyes.
See yourself with Lucy in the sky.
Sit back and dream in technicolor.
Try not think about things that fret you, brother, sister.
Cause you, me, he, she, will be alright.
Throw away the worries for another night.
On contemplating them.
Remember who you are,
who you want to be again.
Then dream again, until we meet again.
I shall see you then.