I noticed
on your skin tenderly while driving. Your complexion melancholy, rigid, cruel, crude and hurtful captivated me in a way asymmetrical. Why was saddened to the point of corrupting the aesthetic canon of the sweetness? Was it a passion poorly digested which you mimicking a metastasis invaded up parked indefinitely in your neck? Foreign cells will inevitably consume to rotted substances leave every pore of your face, while the sordid aspects of build up in layers diminishing the integrity of your skin and turn into scars.
Maybe (just maybe) it was for you, but tiny compared tune with your needs, your emergency. This happens when the passion is stagnating in the stomach.
bite you. And not to heal, but to me infections.
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