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Description
My pen is dry. Angela has cheapened herself. Her fingers are not broken, she acts though they are. I would mend them... but damnit, they aint broken. WTF MATE?

There is a sour taste on my tongue that I would sweeten with soft words, ambrosial gasps in alien languages that would heal my oral wounds. I would fall into a state of narcoma, intoxicated with fumes of my own breath. I would shout mid-titillation, probed in the softest spots by the fingers of my own soul.
But alas, something stubborn has worked its rusty nails into my spine.
It has stiffened my joints and rotted my thoughts... how shall I recover?

Description
My pen is dry. Angela has cheapened herself. Her fingers are not broken, she acts though they are. I would mend them... but damnit, they aint broken. WTF MATE?

There is a sour taste on my tongue that I would sweeten with soft words, ambrosial gasps in alien languages that would heal my oral wounds. I would fall into a state of narcoma, intoxicated with fumes of my own breath. I would shout mid-titillation, probed in the softest spots by the fingers of my own soul.
But alas, something stubborn has worked its rusty nails into my spine.
It has stiffened my joints and rotted my thoughts... how shall I recover?