You're the Fucking Best

Yeah, some old fires still burn hot; yield to them and when fantasy and reality lie too far apart, I will stretch myself across like a bridge and pull you and push you, in me, to the edge. Stay. There. Waiting. The end of my story. Must I release you? Why don't you release you, that most beloved trajectory, into my waiting, wetting parts?

Ignore the human race.
At your peril.
And if you see an unattended package or bag
Don't touch it
Don't ignore it
Alert a police officer
Or a member of the staff
Because stilettos get stuck in the cracks
When you're running from the starlets
And the harlots
And the gamers and the slave drivers and the red-eyed gay friends of your brothers
But in the future there will be fantasy costumes for your psyches
And he don't drink doubles with me because he's driving

And for my own private Criminal I still feel: sadpuppylovetragicfeardepravedkinkyreverence and I don't know why this is; but it is what I want to know. Were it that I had the productivity of our Millennium Children, but I could still never compete with the sky. Cue triphop, out!