I wish I could stop thinking about Channing Tatum I wish I could stop thinking about his strong arms around my body I wish I could stop thinking about Jared Leto I wish I could stop imagining him Behind me in bed Next to me as I write, hand on my knee I wish I… Continue reading Channing Tatum is not you
The aliens came in ships Big hulking things Moving slowly We don't know from where But it was from afar
Here are my two cents. I was holding off giving them but here they fucking are. Two reasons why it piss me the fuck off when these men call the "outing" of sexual fucking predators a witch-hunt.
The books I've read have always explained blood as smelling "coppery" or "metallic." They're not wrong, but they're not right either. Yes. I could detect that old-penny tang in the air, but there were other things too. They never mention the rot of it. The butcher shop meatiness. The piss and shit part that will undoubtedly be there. Because if there is so much blood you can smell it, then someone is either dead or about to be. A bandaid would no longer help them. Blood doesn't just smell like loose change. I should know. I was covered in it.
She jumped into the passenger seat, never looking away from his dark eyes. She might have to keep them. She had a jar that would suit them perfectly.
Chapter two of my short story Milk