Saturday, July 4, 2015

Phyllomedusa - Drought And Misery

It's so hard to answer certain questions sometimes. Like why can't people just accept the fact they would be more meaningful to me as scrapin' septic shakings rather than the "good person" they believe they are. When your nametag is obscured by hair and flabby flesh, what do you want me to say? Why do you want something that will make you look sexy, when we all know it will be a long time before someone that ugly (physically and mentally) comes by, and stands next to you. Why do I keep writing to you like I give two fungal infections of a fuck. So clip-clop your ass on out of here.

Spitting In The Frog's Mouth And Asking It To Take The Pain Away
The Unequivocal Premiss For Putrescent Locomotion
Abnegate Septic Intrigue
Graving Fleshgusset As An Art Form
Ruggish Toad Milk With The Sap Of Sow Thistle
Congealed Body Parts Thronging The Benthic Assemblage
Mellifluous Tings Go Concealed
Refrain From A Slight Interest In Slash And Burn
Voluntarily Pressured Into Sympatric Gainsay
Clearing The Remnants Of Liverless Bursts
Birdkiller (Epicure Of The Zosterops Kind)
Hamptophryne Of Doom/I'm Croaken
Consecrate The Consequent Rash