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Ode to Molly (Free verse) by knickytoy

Half moons hang Under overgrown bangs, Glossy naugahyde nose; Curled in angles, Born of angels In my mother's home. My wittle honey Can smell funny, But she keeps me warm. I'll love her to pieces Til time itself ceases; She's my heart and soul. +

Tarquin De La Bog 2-Oct-02/1:39 PM
This has not come from your pen, but from your rectum instead. 1. 'My wittle honey' is so nauseating that I dry-retched on impulse, and the only saving grace is that you do not thrust more of this bile upon us. Terrible.




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