As I wade through the ford of my own frivolity,
I sit here playing with my clitoris and think to myself, "What lies at the outer stretches of the universe?" I fiddle with my oboe of orgasmic sensitivity some more and I ponder, "what makes a dirty blond cunt with no self esteem post on an internet forum in which she is utterly despised?". I sit in my corner of dark reflection for minutes upon minutes with a cigarette in hand, while juice drips from my cuntains. These cuntains which have been closed to the ephemeral sun that patters at my window like a salesman shilling encyclopedia britannicas. With a puff from the faggot, I blow a halo of hate in to the depths of uncertainty that lie between my hot dripping cuntain and the windowsill that silences the outer world from the inner turmoil that pierces my spirit like Brandon swizzlethrusting Neurotica to a state of estrogenic inebriation. I continue to contemplate the unknown, and why my cries for attention our ignored, while lesser females are scorned for the mere breath that they exhale from their shallow lungs.
Life...
A mystery...
My beef cuntains...
A masochistic mollusk of masturbatory blood shed...