Baby,
Take a swish of that drink you call dish soap.
Take a lick of that skin,
Tongue's gonna be broke.
Like blisters
And jokes that bubble up at the core like a fizzy coke.
Let that
Liquid
Leather
Latex,
Baby, lady
Too scared for little
Pitter-patter foot steps.
Click clack,
Girl's walk too fancy for a little-choke-neck-chicken-bone-ass of a man.
Break your ass in half if she can.
Fine ass latte,
Got that Starbucks
Drank in your hand,
Take a sip,
Siiiiiiiiiiiiip. It.
Attitude so lame you've got "Sore Loser" written on your plastic.
Attitude so lame you've got "Sore Loser" written on your plastic.
Plastic.
Plastic.
False.
Fantastic.
Lips and liver,
And skull and brain
And pink in the head.
The dick one.
The dumb one,
The one that calls the shots.
The directional pointer that strays them away like a wild pack of hyenas when a lion is near.
A huff and a puff, Baby,
She'll blow your house down.
And a ruff, ruff!
Meow like a feline stepping it's pretty little toes across highlands and lowlands and tail's waving lazily.
Crazily.
Little baby blue dress.
Baby blue.
Baby.
Blue.
Not blue eyed,
Not green eyed,
Brown eyed.
Simplicity.
A little manic.
Manic Panic.
Solidly colored
Because coloring outside the lines leaves space for more color and colour and all the shades in between.
It's almost midnight.
Well imagine that.
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