I want someone to eat out of my hand. I would like to put a long nail between your eyes and hang you on my wall. I want to flirt with imperfection, make out with it. I'm gobbling up diamonds of things that I don't understand, but that understand me.
I should have bought the 5-buck labelmaker I saw. I need labels, the short strips of thick blue tape that arrange things in a single-file line for execution. I need names. Someone get me names.
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