Jessica Comola
cruciverb namdamdammy even tiny things have armor, even the tiny things raise tumors from their softness. It’s gotten fairly crushy.

Achieving the satisfactory fill is no longer the primary task it once was. You just say whatever’s done in your mouth.

The geister, aswel. The whirlwind slick wormant’s whelping cat hung by her forepaws, as well. Dread me, doghound me, us psalmby someones are highly important or not, or nonexistent. There were instances. These became monstrous pixiv hack-machines under heat performing their copies on easy-print dollies--hear me pippys, pippys get out!

Without the mother, we play friendlies through our rangefinders: ruff Muncies.
The shape of my crown determines my function. Often in our frog linens whiches hair is not permanent, whiches other function is a steamed milk-bellied kelty welter.

Only the mazy whirl keeps us, brought back by calling after.

I took it assisted by spit and a horsehair whip; that’s a long tongue, that’s Ascendance.

The hallex compound is no place to play pretend, to go well at all. Maybe a wholesale Jonny has games, spanks the balm-side rubber of an onionhead with the great glean of a halligan bachmantra.

Fastforward to whenever it is that is your face coming up. Flare a wondrous, foul florescent.

Blood coagulates, then the body forms, then soul unites with body. We were hurled about and beheld distant occurrences as though in trance, through which, by perpetual diligence, energy was congealed in order to bring out the violet blood from God’s teats.

He shrieks when touched the signs saying: we believe in what hath been sent us!

I’ve returned with a message and cannot meet you after all.