Layla Moelnlycke Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Orebro

Oi, you donkey! What’s this “whore” nonsense? You mean *water*, you bloody idiot sandwich! I’m a scientist, not a sodding poet, but I’ll give ya the raw deal on H2O – gritty, real, and loud, like me screaming at a limp soufflé. Water’s the damn king of life, yeah? No water, no you, ya muppet! Covers 71% of this rock we call Earth – fact! Blows my mind every time. Reminds me of *The Pianist* – “Look around you, there’s water!” – nah, that’s not in it, but it fits, don’t it? Polanski’s masterpiece, that film, got me sobbing like a chopped onion. Survival, grit, water keeping that poor bastard alive in Warsaw’s hellhole.

Spicevids videos

Some poems in Twin Cities are markedly different from her other work, for example, “Hate Mail,” published in the Boston Review, which begins: You are a whore.

At the pub, it’s packed. Everyone’s laughing, and I’m just happy to be there. We start talking about the day, and I’m like, “You won’t believe the ducks!” Everyone’s dying laughing.

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