A journal about nothing and something forever with a meaning to be found not once just but never.
To speak of things that don't exist and contemplate the feeling when you take a piss.
The window is open but the door is a jar and the jam on the knife tastes a little like tar so use up the napkin and wipe off the toast because butter and grease goes best with the roast.
This post might mean nothing, just a silly dead verse but if you've enjoyed then I've not done the worst.
So please, think of the children, plant a tree made of leather and polish it's leaves every Thursday. Name it Frank.

Thank you.