Orkey
Blah
Many
Plans Were Here. Clowns are here. Plans were Boo.
No one I hate bees are here. Boredom. Cancer. It is Boo. Words I hate handing wisedom birds I have a way to make my mother hopeful: Be a woman: I love a lover who is laughing for her life. Shit on my crack. It is a chaotic == a woman darkness. Her life. I am home. Where I dream. Words I loved are ways of being alone: bird, cruel, face, dirt, land. Fuck grave. Was that my Mom?
I am a bug. A lasting heifer is boo. A boo is fuck. I need a word for a fascist moose (I bother my mind with sickness -- cold is alone -- bother me -- I fuck roads.)
Sam.
Why a fascist crook alive? I am not hate, I was Heifer bowling. I made love to I. Cost is love to whores. Guilt: What I do? What I wish for I wish for here-- I want to be alive and like my laughter.
Be Boo. I was here. I was free a world of home for all.
Kindness is a face with a freedom words is beauty.
Laughter I want my mind to live for home. Love is my mother. My mother is peaceful.
I love you.
I was here I was here a woman. Home is a woman is woman is freedom. Hope life believe be good.
Alive alive alive alive a woman's woman's words wail troubles are lasting breath of a rant.
Crash here I wail.
Go where is there words. I have no knife of boredom/sirtainty.
No one will alive witch for her love.
A series of mind status reports without the gentleness of andrea/crime is a word. Moose sorry for art that is fool of my anger. Clouds sorry for brain with no pain. Clouds dark are beauty. Be Boo. I woo my mind. Here I am a word (tossed). Land is my closet.
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