Second Hand Photons

Hey, Sunshine, did you know that you're made of stardust? My tender tympanic membrane tells your traduced talus to fuck off but what I really want to know is: which of the seven basic human emotions you are operating from when you play your electroautoerotic hares and hounds? I almost tricked myself into believing that I was worth something but it was just a bad case of deja jamais vu. Well, now we're both here, and your nakedness is backlit by the blue sick illumination, so there's no more time for thinking or waiting for you to come fuck me at your convenience.