Don't put it on
Craving the tearfull joy of the growing homes. Bring the girls back from the grounds, they fail to hammer the rinds. Real feelings read like a dreadfull head cold. Run from the casual reds and yellows of yeilding bratwurst like the hole left in my gears. Old pins on the wall grey with the dust of grown up deals in the dark corner of my heels. Dream
( Read more... )
Comments 2
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment