Boil Red
Where does nonsense rest when pigs sort youth in forgotten fog? Explain to me the streets where the farmerās rationale is to come with walls marked with fresh shells. Daring to pocket the knife, your sanity abandons face: stoic, steady, unbridled relief. All alone a boy shoves down his throat his four course meal. Easy hobbies dwindle: piss, comets, legs. Pathetic needs, guns, meaningless woesā¦












