If we could eat soup from a giant bowl in the sky
Nobody gets the humor
I love writing severely malajusted and often disturbing poetry. It's awesome.
Music can't save your mortal soul.
Unless, of course, it's gospel.
I guess I'm going to hell.
Why do some people insist that pain is reality and everything else is just a dream?
The coyote gods are angry, and it is very frightening, to be all alone on the farm, and not be able to do anything about it when you hear a whole pack of them, howling loudly, without fear. They aren't behind 2 fences anymore, almost a comforting sound at night. They are right here, sending chills up my spine at 3 in the afternoon... and it's not right, how they are killing the chickens and I am walking around with my shoulders up like the secret service is coming, jumpy.
I went hiking with a boy on Valentine's day but he didn't even know it was Valentine's day and was very confused when I gave him a flower. We cuddled. It was cute.
Candy baby, I miss you.
I love writing severely malajusted and often disturbing poetry. It's awesome.
Music can't save your mortal soul.
Unless, of course, it's gospel.
I guess I'm going to hell.
Why do some people insist that pain is reality and everything else is just a dream?
The coyote gods are angry, and it is very frightening, to be all alone on the farm, and not be able to do anything about it when you hear a whole pack of them, howling loudly, without fear. They aren't behind 2 fences anymore, almost a comforting sound at night. They are right here, sending chills up my spine at 3 in the afternoon... and it's not right, how they are killing the chickens and I am walking around with my shoulders up like the secret service is coming, jumpy.
I went hiking with a boy on Valentine's day but he didn't even know it was Valentine's day and was very confused when I gave him a flower. We cuddled. It was cute.
Candy baby, I miss you.