Flesh-Eating Vampire MILFs (and the return to the mountain)

Nine times out of ten the story remains the same, a hundred nightmare villains lined up in a row. I see the pink bicycle people riding through my dreams, 1, 4, 2, 3, the mandala, the undulating, swirling dervish; we are lost in a trance. Death takes no holidays despite what you’ve heard. My thoughts are floating between your moist thighs, your hair smells like my mother’s is that weirder to say or hear? Triumph over the Tempest or the Tempest Triumphs you tell me either way I think we have a name for our two Chinese fighting fish let’s see which one eats which first.  I am not the same person I was sixteen months ago and neither are you. We walk hand in hand on different shores our hearts collide what’s mine is now yours. Sounds silly doesn’t it? But that’s just the way it’s gotta be. A hundred times or more and we still can’t see. I write our names in the sand surrounded them with a heart I don’t use my hands. There is magic in that piss you know, of course you do stupid question…

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