Republicans In Love - Thought Industry

Sorry, I’m drunk dear.

It happens all the time

Honestly, I thought I loved you.

Too bad you’re so

Damn lame.

Scare me with the chance to die by people I

Would call friends.

I guess it’s a lovely trick.

I probably

Should enlist

Grind me meaty.

Wash me holy.

Chew me crust

Bloody.

Spit on me.

You know I trust you dead

GOP’s oily sudsing.

Attempting to wash what won’t

Rub.

Flossing gums, then licking bottoms.

Nonchalant

They’re gropping crotches.

Raped green by forty ounces

Shiny bliss.

My cocky drunk grin.

Pretentious for

Deceiving you.

You’re gullible for believing me

Grip cold drink starless starlet.

You’re the stench that

Sates him.

His zipper’s sticky on Sunday morn.

Ron’s a

Fist of cement late for breakfast

Emmanuel Kant.

Hamshackles, and first and ten

June bugs lick the horses teeth smiling in the grave of

Summer.

Assume texas stance.

Moled south for

Houston.

Toads dismembering flies.

Ill-behooved to

Miss them

I tend to think we are free