I’m the homebody your momma warned you about, standing sentinel staring at Death as he shakes his ‘life-grip’ at me
Disabled, in a bombers wheelchair going three-sixty in a trench-coat-only zone... “You haven’t beaten this subject to death; you’ve just got it in a coma.”
I’m back-broken and re-looking for nonsensical drama, got any?
The speed-dating company’s my biggest fan ‘cause I still haven’t found a man. Boy, oh boy. This seems disjointed, now it’s time to re-mantle my brain and make some cents.
The news is good but the bones are tired from being crushed by the hurricane you appear to be.
There’s nothing left to talk about yet we keep talking.
A hollowed-out body full of soul, fire and passion. My mission if I choose to accept is to handcuff you to me and throw away the key.
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