Clear crystalised mightily fine skies associated people driven to delicious distraction -oh my, have we all of us been twisting our bleeding fingers and slipping… deeper within the quicksand only minus the use of her struggling hands. Set for thorned survival again. When though? Shall they mother fucking let us know when to manoeuvre in the correct and perfectly misinterpreted direction only minus the necessity for this wrigglesome quickfire discretion anymore
About to floor the wholewide game yet again, and start to run with our beautiful brains pushed affably against the tilting shapeOf a rigamortis flameINSANE