Rambo and his sex life
Yes! He is the one, the one and only, one man army who always holds a big gun in his hands. Vein in his hands can be seen clearly. His muscular clay body was a method of self-love and female species became female snakes to squeeze his manly look. But he is the one, but not for one girl. He was so much worried to stay with his structure and dead-eye look. He had spent more time to pump his parts. Through the old window hole, those female species entered inside his gym house and had gang sex until he bleeds all his blood sports. He had to hate such activities and later he was much disappointed for doing it. He was mostly bothered by the intellectual angels and liked to stay away from them, seriously he had made it. Rambo was obsessed with bimbo, he had no guilty thoughts. Because he is the one and only Rambo. Rambo is still bachelor, and he had no degree, except the degree of action moves. He hates get together, but he always comes there to get you.
I am saving my words to vomit on my word document. It’s waiting for my wet words with lots of colors on it. Believe! we are all more than and less than what we are. Like, look there the people searching for shoes. All their legs looking for “perfects”. Different colors with mixed collage, Wear it and walk for some distance to check the smoothness and soothing designs. The Mirror showing their nude legs got covered up and trying to picture it to others to get some expected pleasing feedback. Verisimilitude has a twisted reasons for the scene to form reasonable lies. A semi-political shocks are happening in our way and it can force us to ride our imagination anywhere. That cogitation occurs in a possible way to reconstruct the structure of what was really expected and to check all the insubstantial vibrations in our reasons. Still we are breathing only the reasons, walking with predefined solutions and taming our lines.
Oh, Are you gonna change that? how? Is it disturbing us or was it disturbed by us? I think we are cutting the edges of our airhead. Possibly, we started to run. Enough? what you said, enough! not more than few lines, you said that again to receive a different designs. OK, we started. yes, that’s the way it works. I got it, somewhere in a cave, you are hiding the past several numbers. what kind of calculation is it? I hate those binary designs, I wrote it to you. You smiled, very crap smile I ever never seen in my smiley experiences. Sorry to talk about your crap smile. I am supposed not to, but your pinches are arts. Each pinches has its different pains. That’s the beauty of it. I am not interested to bite your pinky fingers again. Had no comments on your nails too. But I must ask some coherent questions, can I? I knew your answer. So I will skip that. I can’t remember anything. Is it the meaning of past is past or past are fast or past was a part? I smoked that again. Such a colorful world. No spaces, I was jammed up with colors. I ran as much as slowly, my words were very slow. I am laughing like a dying fish, yeah you knew it and my tears are converted in to diamonds. costless tears. Very expensive only for philistine animals. I can’t sell it, thing is that nobody can buy it. very mediocre words I chose to build a bridge. See, this is the crap moment I meant. OK. it’s a part of the deal. Is there any deal between two corpses? but it happened to recreate another bold beauties.
The mind is diluted inside the words. Difference has flown away to somewhere to find the objective of pain and happiness. The radical faces had tried to intersect. The binary pinches and kisses have been involved to arise in existing bruises. The most secular way has been known as culture in any world. We would’ve jumped behind the pre-defined math that enrolled by the gray hairs. Moving space still holds the existing. The unknown math is running behind the shapes and measurements. The spirit of noumena foxed the spirit of solitude. Lazing words running by envy lines which already conquered and headed to slave world. They sat on the park bench and tried to activate their obscure thoughts to hold with minimal expressionism. The malarkey is melting with their Teflon relationship. Kids around them indulging to run out from the atrocious street. The street and their ferocious lines besieged them. Their torn cloths and hard dried palms are covered up with metals. The rusted sides of the metals are clenched the prints of their bodies. The sides are frozen. The doubts are emerged from the sides that have no intent to prove the noumenon.
I woke up. The Sky is still staring at me through the gap of window. My space filled up with ostracism. Still the clock is alive and shown its presence. The mirror avoided me to show my reflection on it. The dream is still moving as a cloud in my mind and painted the pain. The eyes of dreams are more terrifying and always pull all the reasons. The blood clotted all over the pinches. The fear covered all over my body and eats me like poison ants. The ants enters in to my eyes, eats my dark vision. My legs are trembling; the dreams of my penis got blurred too. My words are dying slowly. I opened the bottle, tablets are laughing at me. I want to sleep again without dreams. I slept. I stopped running, I stopped breathing, and I stopped thinking. But I am still alive. I said bye to me.