In painted ink, with charcoal tones, I confess waiting for Charon.The water too thick for the crossing, watching the gray rise. A single, distant, sickly gas lamp stabs at the gloom, offering notlight, but a suggestion of form—a spectral...

              “As sure as Indians drink alcohol and shake casino dice I will go on a warpath in pussy and lay that deep pipe,             “Even though I don’t have a plumbing degree That pussy will feel the after effects whenever she...

...𝖇𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖞 𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖑'𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖔, 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉, 𝕾𝖊𝖑𝖘𝖚𝖓 𝕭𝖑𝖚𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖔𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖗 𝖉𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖆 𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖊, 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖘𝖒 𝖒𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖉, 𝖜𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖇𝖞...

Your hands are a slow, deliberate scriptsnowing cold glass frozen in marroweach syllable, a fucking shardwhere my lips have beencarved into your flesh—up to my toesiesthe cunt has worn Into a hollow, seeping starepulsing for sharp kisses in the airyou...