Wise things are coercive--
Blooming in fields lost to sons, bell-casters,
The flowers on the blue curve are a sign of a season
Shortening, having colored
The pink inner thrills on those
studious fingers feast on the
Such a world of lies--just listening will
Stop your heart.
Last season a fat baby rose from his cradle,
The lava-folds of his tender back to the field,
Unfriendly to the hands that made him laugh.
Name That Trauma:: Vojta on a Creepy Creature Sitting at a Desk - Hello there, My name is Vojta, 25 years of age and I’m from Czech Republic. A friend of mine recommended me your site and told me, that you could – perhaps...
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