TALES FROM THE EQUIPPED
I’m the callous on your heel, I’m the anger that you feel. I’m the grease within your pores. I’m lacking in appeal. I’m the teeth that you ignore. I’m saccharine. I’m sclera. My features are deformed. I’m rancorous. I’m evil. I’m greedy and I’m coarse. I’m devious and haunted. Bleeding at the core. I’m seething, ceaseless, tortured. I’m needy and I’m awkward, teeming and I’m taunted. A demon. Beat. Exhausted. I’m sleazy and appalling. I’m uneasy. Unsupportive. I’m ingenious. Abortive. I’m queasy, feeling nauseous. Bleak, diseased and caustic. Weak, depleted, chloric. Incomplete, defeated, stormy, cheapened, breached and tawdry. Beastly, peeling, gaudy. I’m unfeeling, fiendish, morbid. Impeded, lesioned, sordid. Illegal, mistreated, lurid. Misleading, jeered and torpid. Deceitful, I’m weird, contorted, unclean and I’m dreary, boring. I’m weary, in tears, I’m nothing. Yet it’s me you appear in love with.
MORE QUICK SHIZZ, ONE SITTING, BLAOW!
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