Ballerina Peace Punk Posies @JoJo777Lucky@mograph.social

My pain of thoughts of things.
My angery outbursts.
I actually want my stuff back.
It's not going away.
Crrrusshhing.

Give me back my stuff.

Why is my smile not entertainment?

The joke is watching me lose.

The joke has never evolved into laughing at being good.

My mind is twisting and I feel sad.

Why do I feel outlandish and sad, like my ears are being driven together by a vice turning until I squeal about some painful thoughts.

This isn't magic. And panpsychic cosmos don't think I am reasonable.

777 jackpot. My ship as come in. I Win.

All of the electrons gather inside her in circuitry flow. Augmented by bends and streets that get narrow. The signs are written by the words they know. Stopping, twerking, tattooing, referring publicly to blow. The excitement is felt. It brings some much joy and others get annoyed. However this isn't a party. And everyone got lied to.

Wordy force.
Goofy and Pluto should get divorced.

First, everything magic go away. These words are not wonderful. I can't get none.

Seven.
Seven.
Seven.
Lucky streak extended.
Anything and everything is fortunately bending.

There's a lot of ways to crowd around my clam.
Coming around, peering around, making yourself quiet and sticking around me in town.
There's a tunnel I like to go, now it's popular because of, you know.
I guess being lonely isn't lonesome enough.
So many people, and I just wanna dance and do stuff.