Silver Jewelry 92.5 India

The windows and blinds are closed, I’m hot boxed my smell of rubber incense me. The smoke is my face turned blue. My face, the poly-center stands for a soul. My face, with staring eyes, mouth, framed crud sorry drools, spit and over and over again like a leaky frog mouthing, I am a submarine, GIVE ME MORE Luftlöcher.Und a cute little Indian nose that She’d noticed little, if not from me, I scratched so hard, is all that you see a round spot scab and grill with two holes to absorb oxygen. My eyes, my other mouth, I look at you with the wrong expression, I’m your baby Trickster.Und sad eyes, the hair, the hair, my hair itself is a veil of the scalp, screaming mad in the scalp and sleepy Comanche, it This wave is below the skin. Barefoot and laughing, I laugh in peace because my heart is open for SO / son, of whom I wish that just absolutely ready to seize me, my bare feet, dirty, silver sand, a ring of tap-shoe sole on Click on the heels of you and pants, running and playing alone under purple sky to find a dream and a partner to take the path of magic playgrounds, where combining the bare feet “to sand and mud, dirt and blood, about flowers and love and joy and ice and the sky was wide open, how far my eyes now fall on the sky, and my eyes fall out, we really are about the Leben.Wir especially the inner cities are doing nothing lifelines. We are living better than we have now escaped, we now fly and drive, we drive out pansies and we live gorillas and wolverine and the cave leading to open ourselves to open, will open wider and higher, until we reach the ultimate pleasure, and ultimately the peace, we are together on the run, all the mountain rushmore the lower floor, all the Grand Canyon exit, all, all the big cities and small towns, we are the true children of the sons of Ham and we go up together to promote peace to and benefit from. We do not go off, no, no, never down, no go, no, never, no,… dead Myers; good as glue.