My shadows groan...

My shadows moan. I want breakfast ...And I expect what they can ...The deprivation of editing ...Or maybe a neurologist. Or maybe an injection. Or maybe the threshold. The protruding falcon ...Some rustles. Screaming motes ...Maybe whores. And a voice on you...McDonald's. Butebrod.
Waltz. The rabble in love...Or maybe an echo. Creation. Listen to echo. The hell of creation ...The roofs are groaning. Listening to splashing...I'm going into the pool...It was a screech ...Screeching winds. Screech ...Mom's voices the afterlife. Close lick ...