You know, the secret ratio of faking it, to applying it, to handing it out on the street is written on the bathroom wall.
But, I'm not in the bathroom am I?
No, I'm urinating blood into empty coffee cans.
Empty like the cobwebs in my buck naked brain temples.
Call me, It's raining in this phone booth, and the yellow trench coat is a sexist republican butt munch, he reads Jodi Picult and listens to jazz.
I probably spelled her name wrong, I went to elementary school on the south side,
Frisky,
Skin and Toast
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