Forlornicata
A strong gust
Of garbage tongue
Sweeps the cold sense
From extra-triangular nuffink...
No
I wasn't saying anything.
Pull that custard
Over the tips of my outstretched eyes
Don't let the good juices
Seep
Glong!
Sorry I
Must go!
But in leaving I
Trap my ileum
Ileum in the door
In the door and
And watch in
And
And
All the insides are out.
All out.
I'll probably just leave my skin here then?
OK, bye.
