seventree for

Wet Orchid,

We are of the Byron great romance corporation. In future years we will smile on card in hands of women wanted for some sexual pillowfighting.

I have a room in Hong Kong. I light cigarettes on the toaster and burn my hands. There are holes through my knuckles.

You can buy chunks of plastic and scream into them here. An Indian man held my hands and promised his buttonrod would complete me. It made noises and I shivered. There are never fireworks here, if there were I would not see them, my eyes are plastic (also).

Marry me here, sincere, everything. This monument testament needle of cross section correlation everyone in the world is here, chewing coffee and drinking opium. You are not here, but your delegates spend the shirts of the babes pushed from vaginas you nursed birth through to millenium! Dance! 2000 years of vaginas!

In Hong Kong a man can pay for amputation of his arms should he find such torture arousing. A man, cassette, he paid me sugar to tear holes in his legs and bite his neck. Sugar high robbery! Policing is wearing iron boots and keeping your hands inside of your trousers.

See