Aqueous Nineveh

You have done a good thing for a bad man. She is an angel with come in her mouth. I love you, father. What lustful sores must I endure in tune with radio frequencies too audible for logical digestion? I have learned to multiply severity clocks that perforate the insect sentences, but feast so steadily upon her cysts that my seed is sewn as tapeworm maledictions; open walls coagulate when questioned. The ovarian rupture haphazardly ejaculated swarms of wayward eggs into my teeth. With bile producing stomach emphasis I stagger slowly into throat-consuming orgasm, swallowing her children in bright green ruination much akin to mildew.