mental health of jesus

i want to stitch you back up before your motor skills go kaput so the last thing you got to show for 'em is me fingerfucking the space between your kidneys and gallbladder. i want you to need me, and i want you to fuckin' hate me for it. ’

when i say ‘ love, i want to be on your mind forever. ’ what i'm tryin' to say is ‘ i want to keep you alive long enough to slice you open tits to cunt, i want to play around with your insides and yank your spinal nerves like i'm God and they're strings of time.

born to tell the b-cupped tramp stamped brat crop top in the big 'twenty-six'd student that sits third row of his lecture hall ‘ m'picturin' wearin' yer insides like a bowlin' ball ’, forced to smile and say ‘ good insight, butta bit far from the author's intentions. ’

‘ christ, yer so wet ’ with two fingers jammed into her thigh, twisting around the femoral vein.

creature of observation he is. flush in the cheeks, twiddling fingers, an inability to take a compliment. negligent parents and a just—achiever in high school. blood's in the water and it smells like wine, it's dripping in a trail behind the rocking of heels, sings like