Christopher Robbins, A Mouthful Of Rabbit Eggs


Our house is a memory house, it tries to be a normal house with it’s grand ideas of normalcy. Sometimes trips are taken in this house to a place where it always rained orange caps girls dying on beaches saliva crust forever on the edge of a smile we sometimes eat kangaroo for breakfast
Hoping god let her die for our happiness

Memory 1
She left the house screaming right for once a good reason this time. He had promised her his love fucking her on a pile of wet leaves dreaming of others in Florida. Fat girl cutting her body inside six steps away plotting her revenge on skinny poet girls from the Northwest.. it was all a drunken craze just like 6700 memories from this girls head. My head this big head
We all got drunk the three of us all day all night. It was a setup. The joker in my vagina sharpening knives ready for a dance

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