#116 The Sale of Sex and Violence


#116 The Sale of Sex and Violence, dose dependent to Americans

Still, lying tits or ass up, I’m dying inside. She did confide.
When I’m sleeping, salvations ever a creeping, I die with each ride.
Go fantastic for us daddy!
My tears are water seaping.
Pleasure your senses by living a woman like me again!
You just attacked a country contributing less than 4 to 40 men.
This is about if, not when.

Bandit you, Chechen me!
DOES it even matter anymore once we get committed to Afrin? Committed to die to get free? In theory. Make me a long boring history.
I lick your inner legs. You will balance your torture noose on beer kegs.
On evil, vile airstrikes. On last stands.
All of this got promised, so all of this can be our promised land!!!
Chechen her, Chechen me!
Grim story broads near edgy.
My epilogue, my end can run us hedgy.
Kiss me a Chuvash kiss. A red head delightful, a dismiss of the next world’s bliss.
Can you stand being ridden?
Deep fucked feelings not factored, much less hidden?
A shooter in my lips will fix the next act,
Begin finding the exit condescendely.
I suck the air out your lungs. I drain your pockets open endplay.

I can degrade the cadence from Soviet, to Afro-Caribbean, for him.
Pure Afro-Pop; we can wine a bumper,
We can wine a story,
Wine a country!
Misbehavior don’t stop.
Pause!! Are you some cheta! DO not your tribes have strong laws?
I had my hands cut off to please you,
I hurt you worst when I stoked your Cold War fears,
Over smoked herring and Baltika beers.
I stole out your Russia heartless heart so you had no choice but to tear me apart.
I’m no evil doer! Beware. I know you die your crimson hair.
The heart was a long shot, not there.
A jump start!
Things with me fall apart.
My handcuffs are tight now, they seemed to hold me only so far; the death sentence we wrote for our love was time sensitive, for a start.
I raced in Honda Civic certitude, a white car goes far.
You set the bar at neutral!
Blare out six battalions of Kettle Drum stallions.
Put my music on her hard body, beat myself into a possible new life!
You put your sex upon her, but not with any knife.
The Vodka! Made the fucking a play back blur. He tied her up.
Coffee cup, up.
I filled her plate, I filled her cup.
I didn’t do this for mere “fun”, or cheap sex thrills.
I knew the girl had lots of child based bills.
Don’t cry out. Don’t throw up.
I did some noble things I swear it!
I took big risks, I dare it.
You ran your fingers with love through my hair.
I’m in Syria now, but I wish I was Nizhny there.
Don’t sex up a self-murder.
Don’t play down a version of me,
I’m not the door key, I’m not forcible re-entry.
You changed out my eyeballs, so I could properly see.
Clearly had visions without me.
Now you’re back.
At least in words.
I’m dancing in circles with boat loads of Kurds.
Now you’re back, dancing on me.

And the radio playing resolute, Vodka flows freely.
I rebel blush.
I Rebel salute.
I can see that the songs on repeat, back bone flute.
I feel nearly complete, wrapped in your bed sheet.
Cheap perfume, not yet dead from defeat.
And here goes another Chechen song again,.
You hate the sight of me a second time? Until when?
Again, and again and again.
Do you now hate me then?
Good night moon lovers, not if but or when.
I’m dead under all these fake love covers.
How now? Mice are never made into men.

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