Wall and Paint

Wall and paint, painted walls screening over aching fall. Oh goodness, isn't emotional bombardment fantastic streaking lightening scented melted plastic. I fuck of smelling paint it licks the sticks pink fingers open split. My scissors crafting old and new, reversing strangers, aren't you you? Or are you babies trinkling shit, I know no dangers but the truth. I'm broken like. I'm broken like, all broken like that orange bike you had and lost and found again, the men all pumping fucking lead, fly into your own magnetized rectum, oh baby that colorful spectrum, delectable respectable but oh so so detectable. The feeling of burnt rubber lacing lacy laces. The feeling of tires scraping past your bloody braces. The feeling of poison powder in between your
open
vulnerable
spaces reenactment go ahead boy, show your daddy proud and fucking pump your fucking lead. Retrieval in the broken head.