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Will you ever?
No. Never. That's genesis, and terminus. I'm sorry Rowf. The floor turned sharp, we could not get out, and though everywhere the reflect of glass I could not face myself.
No. Never. That's genesis, and terminus. I'm sorry Rowf. The floor turned sharp, we could not get out, and though everywhere the reflect of glass I could not face myself.
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 1 kB
Brood over it, like a king on a chess board castled. Contemplate the crenels, sobriety's forces arrayed against you, and ask yourself why you've built such a fortress at all.
Why? It's lonely down there. The people are all made of cardboard, the things they drink have no bite, taste like blood, and no matter where you look the souls have been bought, every one.
Why? It's lonely down there. The people are all made of cardboard, the things they drink have no bite, taste like blood, and no matter where you look the souls have been bought, every one.
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