I can dish it out, but I can't take it

It's the little little little little little things that count the most. Just like pores only smaller. Just like eyelashes, only more delicate. Just like rubies, but only more red red red red red red red. They walk to the beat of their own drum. Thud thud thud thud. Gush of water and daisies breathe one last time before the ship sinks sinks sinks sinks so slowly into the frigid water. Blue and thick thick thick like my father's eyes, only those are thick thick thick thick of childishness and love. Eloquent downfalls that make me cry cry cry cry a river; I finally have enough to do that. Make it blue blue blue and thick thick thick thick. But only for a bit because the piano makes you sad when the black comes. No, we want red red red red red or blue blue blue blue. Chocolate kisses and caramel body parts that are so sweet to suck on. But shhh, shhhh shhhh shhhh shhhh shhhhh don't tell mommy. She would get mad. Maybe disapprove and I don't want to wear that hat and carry that candle that glows from miles away. Green miles. Blue hills. Thick daisies sigh and sink and erupt into volcanoes for angels to sleep on. Sleep sleep sleep sleep. Death. Only twice. Only three times. No more please. I don't have enough tears to cry cry cry cry cry. I want to be happy, Cathy. Stop being so obtuse. Happy is not bad, it's delicate like eyelashes and sweet like the little little little little little things. Stop being so clitty, Cathy. Just sew the buttons on. Do it all of the time. Needle and thread, thread and needle, pull through once or twice. Then prick and bleed bleed bleed red red red and thick. Daisies choke and roots wither away to dust. Nose slopes slopes noses slope. Only twice, A and B, but those two don't matter because it's about A and C, B and C. Nope. Nothing else. Don't look back and don't tell mommy. She would get mad and make me go away to the cemetary to pray to you and say sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry for my gloppy eyelashes that leak black tar. I cry cry cry cry cry when I see red red red red and blue hills. Up and down in and out only to trickle into tomorrow. Stomp on the daisies like unfortunate pavement. No prisoners. Just punish the daisies because they are too pretty for burdened burdened burdened burning burning eyes burning burning eyes of fire. Melancholy jeans and rubies of red red red. Cranberries of red red red red. Blue hills thick that go up and down down down down then up only once. Well, maybe twice. Three times like death. But no more please, I like my daddy's eyes, Cathy. Don't be so clitty and don't tell mommy....she will get mad. And sad and a sad mommy is no mommy at all. All, everything, nothing. The door locks click click click click and giggle giggle giggle. Special lips touch like pious hands. Sex is a religion that everyone follows. God God God God gods God. Skin with black pastels smudged smudged black pastels on skin and face. But not my eyes because the needle and thread must get through to sew the buttons. Buttons must be sewn and sex is a religion that everyone follows. Buttons only twice, maybe three times by seven...if only it were eight. But not eight at once not four, but now three for seven. Three for seven three for seven three four is seven. Seven and three is ten. Fingers on my hands, June hands. June june june june june june. Pretty sun that screeches and kills daisies. Run over. Splat. Squash squash squash. Dead. It's B. B is that, not what you think. Just squash, B. B squash. B B B B B B. Only three times for seven. No buttons? Maybe buttons, not sure. Only sew the prisoners for the daisies. Daisies are for the cool girls and sleep is for the eyelashes. Sex is a religion which everyone follows. Just as much as the little little little little little little things count. Just like pores, but only smaller. Sex is a religion which everyone follows, as delicate as eyelashes. Curl me in sex like eyelashes, but not in globs globs globs at the stone stone stone stone. Knees seep into the moist ground and I'm sucked into the hills with the dead daisies. Daisies daisies are flowers like sex is a religion which everyone follows. Lips touch behind closed doors and closed eyes eyes eyes. Thick and blue like my father's. Smile, Daddy's little girl, your picture on his lap now. Oh Cathy, don't be so clitty and don't tell mommy about daisies and sex. Never tell mommy. Whisper into teddy's ears for good secrets. Secrets in my mind and in sewn buttons. We sew sew sew sew sew buttons on jackets like secrets and sex is a religion which everyone follows. Just like we talk during movies and throw popcorn popcorn, buttery like butterflies of green and gold and sunshine with sunglasses that you lost. Hands in pockets and up shirts behind closed doors. Pastel skin up against smudged skin behind closed doors like pious hands because sex is a religion that we all follow. Just like the road to nowhere. Just like the road to everywhere. Dirt and chickens with no heads in this place of sacrifice. East and West just like A and C, but not B B B. I like D though. Just not B. I love you, knees. Keep me above ground and steady as I run across thick thick thick thick hills and stomp on daisies like unfortunate pavement. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck. Sex is just a religion that everyone follows. Just don't tell mommy, Cathy. Just don't. But if it slips, tell her it's delicate like eyelashes and sweet like honey. Then then then then then then then then then sex sex sex sex sex fucking fucking is just a religion which everyone follows.