A FACE BURIED IN MUSCLE (AND THE SMELL)

Sometimes I wish I were a hair that grew from you because then I could be close to you but not have to say anything.

And sometimes I wish you were a hair on my body so I could cut you with a razor and not get in trouble.

But most of the sometimes I can only hear what sounds like a small annoyed kid playing a keyboard at radioshack inside my head and it gets really loud but the loudness gets me sexually excited and a big drop of pre cum exits my penis sinking into my Knightrider underwear, right on Hasselhofs face—

oh boy, today I am alive.

My mouth will be in your mouth the next time I talk so you can’t act like you didn’t hear. When I lick the roof of your mouth, get ready to wretch.

If you find my skeleton in the forest feel free to crack my ribcage in half and use the halves to rake up the dead leaves then burn them and smell the burn and say something you definitely don’t mean. Make new sky.

The next time you complain I will pull patches of your hair out of your head just like plants from the dirt prepared by a lot of rain--And call it maintenance
because my field must remain undeveloped.

I would kiss you goodnight except I’m allergic to mean assholes.