Creative yet alone with my differences. I mean we’re all hanging on. Not me. I’m interested because we’re all forgotten within our mazes, a touch of thorns and my roses through decomposes. Let ancient color die within cicatrix because I’m merely a stratagem of bricks.
Tedious minds blindly make a time so shallow over gay, the competency of space that show many with grace, the interrogation of every time hence the repugnant, known of change seem to glee the majesty of gesture, languid but a depraved audacity speaks of renaissance, plies the suggestion of every regulation that makes life of class, sybarite the decision of every way of being. Inclusivity is a mere hence of decision, more thy doubt of a lost or will, a person will drought more, thy people listen the way we think, why we listen, why we sing.
Comments
Post a Comment