Oh Dear.

Punched in the mind with
so much bright confusion.
splaying it's rays on everything

just can't see anything thats not
backlit by this interesting
c o n f u s i o n
that I hate even more than girls.
A grunt wrestles in my throat
and eventually wins.
So I grunt.
I grunt my troubled grunt
concerning Russian girls,
grades, and dances with
death in a minivan.
Hooo boy.

I didn't say it was something good. Back, hombre

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