I spy
with my
little eye ball
something beginning with 'brian stole the dvd player, tie him to the aston martin
then send him
to the beach
somewhere symbolic that will speak to him of drowning, but actually just be quite wet'
cos we are eating for none
i am
most of the time perfectly happy
but occasionally am struck by a melancholy the details of which are often extremely dull
to write songs
near and round yourself
why not commission a picture of your own tits and put it on display in your mother's care home?