Sometimes I sweat, thinking of my fortune My melancholy is subversive and my melody boring With a firm hope, I wait for the time opportune, With the help of poetry and love, I’ll do my soul’s cleaning. The river is clean and pleasing My heart is murky and demeaning Eyes are moist and eyelids low, Seeds of purity, I, in my heart, try to sow.
skeletal bones in the hidden residue to escape with its fashionable decorum hidden inside there is a map a scroll to tell us where is the buried treasure turn right on interpass twelve quick left passed the brook under an
As lovely as the bright night the trees filled with glimmer as they tremble with tears dripping from their limbs. Glaring in a distance at the pole wires busy with droplets trying to make their way to safety as if
That vibration has come again if I were a car a driver might say there’s an issue with the spark or with the compression because judging from the size of my tank there’s plenty of fuel I’m suffering from disjointed