And as I spoke.
You heard.
The door creeking shut...
behind the latern.
Let the interrogation begin.
I commence, to understand you.
Better left unsaid, the later the spring.
Arousal... the smell of popcorn in the oven.
Movies, in black and white.
Norma Jean.
Color.
In my personal ownership, a lit fuse burnt, thoughtful, true, but awakened... not there for you to recieve me. You're answers are absent.
You've become condescending. You hide. Patronized.
Get lost you commie. You bolshevik / bastard / traitor.
I will it.
You don't own me, Edgar you faggot queer-wipped mother fucker.
I HATE YOU.
Eat my fuck.
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