I like your pale skin. I want to sting it. I want it to spill little strips of lava , maybe rub some in. Oh, and I want you cry. Just let me have a little bit of it. Just let me hurt you a little. Cry for me. I want tears. They just tickle me to death. Make me grin.
It’s Christmas morning and I’m like a kid just a little too old for Santa, but with no parental conformation that he doesn’t exist. I don’t really know where this came from, but I like it.