The billowing of the wind made restless, thoughts danced about my head, cradle thee cradle thee and man would make a fashioned love, a trendy article a running joke, being the judged, judgemental, judged, fall asleep now. No don't, for there isn't wind or ideas in my mind, oh piss. Spilt my soup.
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Author:
TomLovesey (
Offline) - Published: February 28th, 2017 15:23
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments1
Welcome to MPS. Split my soup?
Dawning realisation that everything has got out of hand and eventually brewed over
Thanks. That makes sense.
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