Coming back to the house you can say that I'm Rollin back #train #freeway #lighttrain #publicktransportation #tolife #tolove #blackandwhite #video

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from China

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Sweden
seen from France
seen from Japan
seen from France

seen from New Zealand

seen from New Zealand

seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from China

seen from Belarus

seen from New Zealand
seen from Singapore
Coming back to the house you can say that I'm Rollin back #train #freeway #lighttrain #publicktransportation #tolife #tolove #blackandwhite #video

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Never getting off. Riding this slim, sweet little lighttrain. A million times better than that bloodtrain you oversold to me so many years ago. It all makes sense now. It's terribly pathetic that when I dig into my past and pull out my demons your pathetic lips are all that I have to squeal about. So I'll keep picking at my skin laced around the hem of my skull and I'll quell these comparisons deeper and deeper until I burn another detail out of your face.
Biting my nails and they taste like blood. They taste like blood and sweat and drowsiness. That kind of heavy drowsy that hits the back of your throat. The drowsy that stays. That sticks. It tastes like the depravation. The mucus and the ache radiating from bleached anemic bones and blood that would be washed white if you let it flow. It would look like tired soapy water cascading over dishes that aren't considered dirty but have been washed over and over unrinsed so that all their history is just baked on for years.
There's a vibration at the side of my left hip that won't stop that never stops and the spot inside my bottom lip is slightly inflamed and I can feel the intravenous tether stretch tight when I inevitably suck it after telling myself not to. My trials are so fucking trivial I might as well go start a war.
Turn off that tv. Just turn off that fucking tv. I don't want to hear what your eyes are foaming away at during this hour of night. I don't want to hear you sloshing back whiskey. I don't want to hear you clear your throat of all the shit you held back from the day before.
He's just a man for god's sake and i'm sitting on the edge of a nightmare with a typewriter and a fucking noose around my neck trying to get the disease that's inside of me onto this fucking paper. Maybe I'd be better off hurling this entire metal dictionary with its ribbons and lead typefaces and gentle humming purrs across the room and just start picking up the paintbrushes that are scattered across the floor. Forget the ink. Forget the punctuation. The capitalization. The spelling. The fog horn is rolling in like morning across the horizon and the children are screaming while the wind is taking their voices like their souls and their words and the gossamer strands of their sunday evening skirts and their shoes. I can't write anymore about the fragile curve of the earth. I can't talk about the sunbeams and the rainfall although I would really love to breathe in that lavender again. She's chasing lace with whiskey fingers and the fingerprints imprinted in ash are fading away and everything everything looks like mold and spores and rotting pieces of the life that I left when you left me. The beat is coming in. Sinking heavy in my ears and my tongue and I wish music could fill this gaping growing mutating (whole) hole inside my fucking chest. Feeling the depth of honey and filth and the almond shapes that brought me down so willingly and quickly to my knees but it's blocked now. It's barred out like a computer virus or the sound of a digital error, so pixelated, the corners so sharp yet so blurry, so useless when grouped together.
It's all fiction. I know nothing. I've felt nothing. I've brought upon myself none of my own substantial errors and that is the greatest error of all. Sing my skin to sleep with sweet violin strings dragged across the delicate skin of my forearms. So white and unyielding and ready for you to leave a resin trail. I have to cast myself into these plays. I have to project to feel alive. I'm not going to read this over again. I'm not going to read this over again and correct it and perfect it and scrutinize every syllable. You're alone now and the fucking barren wasteland is spreading across your skull and I hope it fucking burns.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming