I drank a fuchsia earth and it walked my tongue. Pulled my mouth ever so slyly to gobble her molded lump. I need a drug to destroy the lump in my throat. I need a rain to cleanse my gums, thatched with bitter truth. Need a vacuum to digest this mold in my stomach. I bet if I fold my hips and secrete creams in your dream, I could imagine the seed you are made of. It's sleeping in my intestine, and warns to grow up to my brain; climb my digestive pathway, and hinder my way. But no matter,you are throwing up your tears so I can swallow this diarrhoea.
Yours even as I fear to be