a sponge sops up everything and aides my soft heart the surface of my soul is tough like a pickle is.

the contents of the Big Blue Box renew me, and are moisturizing to my naughty mind.

but i am not to say what is naughty. our minds are constructed to know right from naughty.

the Big Blue Box holds the key to our skull features. unlock my brain - release my thoughts of paint peeling on the ceiling.

and i wander down to the yellow stick on the floor where the body glove holds me and shaves the hair off of the back of my bleeding hands.