Dear Soul,
Time has been strange, emotion shot, mind empty, heart stone, eyes traces. Drag on you feathered whore, drag on. God may as well be a figment of imagination- for all I care right now, truly. I am beyond the reach of any reason, I tick these seconds away with nothing coming but for too fail. Morbid today Joseph>? yes afraid so. But who really gives a fuck, I used to, but now I'd be quite happy to drown in cheap shitty wine.
No comments:
Post a Comment