brain vomit

whole grain wheat crackers, saltine snackers. ran out of chips to flip, the quiver of lip is unmet by sultry salsa dip. sipping on a brew, blue moon to be true, but it lacks a certain company, the guess you only knew. too many cut up plants, not enough reusable containers; if only i had mothers and farmhands on retainer.

if there is anything that is sacred anymore

it's definitely not this blog