i posted one before about growing up. it said you're not sure if growing up sucks or hurts more. which is true because it could just suck but you're growing up and you're hurting just because you're becoming in society and this world we live in isn't the nicest when you're growing infamous. which stays as painful so growing up hurts but which is worse; something hurting or something sucking? We don't know this and we should. People have designed religions around this. I have and you shouldn't join the hose with me, but reply, yes, reply i think you're probably wondering why the fuck would I reply to this.. (Shit)? Because it's not shit, what I'm saying is real life shit, i'm only a lass going on 21age these days and for two years I've felt like I've been here before. Everyday isn't the same, I don't know why depressed people say that because depression is real but it's such a good term used to only be wasted on such shit feelings I think so I disagree with depression, AND only because people can be more specific with their problems and dwell on a subject seems to be subjective and stereotypical 2014-2016 and as for forgetting your sad, that's the ticket i reckon but it rarely happens because if someone's sad they don't for a second spare up a spike to happiness just for the sake of it, they're genuinely sad because sadness and emotions are real, and people are actually really sad. They're sad man, what do we do if they're sad? We look on the agenda for boredom minus the laughter and joke telling like we seem to be "losers" if we're sad but honestly we're not leaving much behind. Emotion is real but depression, we forget about, which isn't a good thing. I long for something substantial and if it were depression to overcome these feelings then so be it because i'm happy to live in enrichment and static but please, no body wants to be bored. This is from me; as The You (like that's my name not my first but from the living world I'm named as You-some heightened being shit I'm proud of) Also as Ski Yong xoxo I'm okay with being sad, the contradictions of being sad isn't the problem because I'm happy with sadness but I'm so hard done by the voice of the people over ages and their sadness, and their cries. The one's we remember, most of them weren't crying for help (well politically they were, also helpless with their own minute problems) but as we cry because we're crying, or we cry cos we cry cos crying makes us as the one human worse. So what about that guy that cried with pain, where were the others?
I don't know how closely you look at the public as the people individually but the others were nearby and yeah they felt his pain because he hurt. How did he hurt? he hurt them, but he didn't mean it. He just needed help. But not the same help the other half of the population needs. There's: this and then there's: tomorrow. This and tomorrow. Those poor people that have gone through shit honestly, I'm sad their missing out on Life as a "bettered whole" to what they know if someone didn't get them down.
I know what you mean, it's just one toll of sadness and it's good to be sad which I definitely agree with because it's life's realty and reason (sadness)
And isn't it funny how it's irrelevant things that pull us from the dumps? The only thing you can do is care less.. About the other person, and you know how to make yourself feel better as well.
One toll of sadness from a man that cries pain is too much. He does it because he has to, only has felt this need to express this because he thinks he matters and could matter more than the next person. Which he probably does because that's probably why he comes across that way but why? Why does he matter more if he's sad? Because he's dangerous or is his cries better? Are they astuteness (to himself or the people around him) Why does he hurt that Circle of Forgiveness-that-he-may-need in the future, he can't help it. He's not the sad one, he just has issues. Why do we respect these people? I just ruled out that as a nation we are respecting the people who personally hurt us; it's secluded and discriminative to ourselves. He's tomorrow, he's the one we're looking to dodge because he hurts when he cries no matter real tears or not, we don't want to hurt. So those who are getting hurt, watching others get hurt, watching men who hurt, men who are hurting others, women who are hurting others, women in pain, sad men, sad women, women who are hurting and men who also have enough time to actually hurt-because these people have succumbed into hatred. They have time to move on, and do this, and do that like they're picking up rubbish at Bondi Junction. But our emotions aren't rubbish and I as a lover of the Song and Music believe we shouldn't be listening to the man but sticking it to him. How the FUCK would you feel !!!!! That's what we need to say to these people..
And like I said before about how we forget about these other people who are crying and sobbing because they're not affecting the others around them with their cries enough.
This could be either you're not trying hard enough or you need to milk this more. Enough means there is more, so I say work harder at the one thing when you're sad all the time. Don't stop being sad because if you put it away, you tend to hurt. And if your quiet I forget about you, and you don't want the You to forget about the sadness of the quiet people's because those are who matter, because you only didn't talk to them because you trusted they're alright and they'll come back tomorrow. What if half of them didn't? What was I supposed to do? Now it's about me, isn't that weird how sadness can merge into something just by the smear? Am I supposed to feel sad I didn't do something or just because they left? Because I could have done something positive, for them and for myself so I'm not drowning here in secondarily passive regretfulness I can literally know to feel about my people I might have lost. As Ski Yong xoxo it makes me sad that I have to jump to speaking figuratively when real life is the only one that holds one mend that yields us to safety as if It were chewing the whole world up and spitting it out. We don't have time for that anymore. We leave a Utopia which means we're revolving and moving forward from the last utopia we lived in, 5 minutes ago. So we just let the past crumble and die just to move on, 'happy or sad we don't have a choice' but this painful panics me again and again just because it keeps coming back. I mean i've spent time filling up my life like it actually took fuckin effort, why come along? Bastards. I get off my ass everyday to make sure I'm articulate and agile enough to avoid the fuck out of you when you manoeuvre and I swivel out of your way, just because I know. Just because I remember. Memory doesn't fade, each time, it doesn't and it won't so- Actually you probably don't have anything to lose but your life. It gets confusing when living is valued a worth that's more than getting stamped upon almost completely. I have so much to lose this time, please protest this.
I'll tell you, I'm scared now and it's because I'm settled and I know how to get sad which is a big thing for me.
As the You, as a Soldier of Humanity(deadset don't even try to google it, this website internet shit is firewall'd the fuck out of these days.. So sheltered and we don't even know it.. No such thing as research on the web anymore btw it's just looking and finding because searching
g over through links (surfing the net.. Cos you can't block that from the public)
BUT
As the You, a Soldier at Humanity (i write at because the title changes as the time, i may be more vulnerable one moment and not the next.. it's simply changed for protection.. I'll say For instead of At in my head all in all the whole time coming though) -:;* As a Soldier For Serendipity, i work alone; a one mind As Ski Yong xoxo as Brianna, The Rae, Brianna Rae, as Smoke, smoke, as Socks, as Yin (for chinese friends) as Bree, Breezie, Breezy Rae, Brie(my friend's doing, we love the cheese and I hope you do too) but as the you, a respectable higher advocacy ideally known as one person to judicial polemical that's dialectic to a/The Kingdom Of Sight (trust me there is such thing otherwise there wouldn't be gothic->modern buildings being built) there be a hierarchy in this worldly society they've made this into and I for both standardise by fact and I guess it comes down to trust from the bIgger Worlds. I own a lot, and I'm a creator but from me to you (I Won't get personal between the worlds you and I to explain where I stand) but I AM SICK AND TIRED OF DISAVOWING AND IMMEMORATING THE FIRST STREET LET ALONE PEOPLE I DON'T KNOW. I ONLY EVER KEPT THE PLACE ALIVE FOR US ALL TO PARTY SO I COULD SIT SOMEWHERE AFTER MY MUM KICKED ME OUT.
I have a lot of issues and I'm sorry I sent you so much, you can read it if you want but time had it's toll most of the time and I missed out on my favourite points so it's a bit messy and a bit shit. But fuck I poured my heart out to you because I could for the once time I actually could think about which people I really cared/and care for. My biggest point about being scared about people hurting others isn't the biggest point, I'm not sure if you've heard of the Astor (I just made this private only between you and I, yay!) but I work in my own head, I talk to "those" but I can't tell you who as [well I just found out they are srsly subdue which is really bad] but that makes me a One man Wolf Pack and I'm not shitting you, the First one man to fight an army in modern day.. There's a war going on inside (AND OUTSIDE) our heads.. And they've got something to do with each other... I wanna cry to them, I wanna fall at my knees in the centre of the city again and just say why did you have to bring them closer together?? You already know we don't like the foreign voices we here so why bow down to it regardless if you're working or not- You respect it like it's better than you and WE'RE ALL SUFFERING. I can't live like this, this place is supposed to be too small but it's not. These aren't my people I'm worried for, The Public isn't as I said "my people" but those in my family I am only supposed to worry about although, it's difficult having half a Dad. The poor man is poor, he might as well see what it's like alone and without money because he's forgotten what's life without the life worth living like he believes they're separate but lives like they're not. I wanna tell him and I wanna say to them, 'your not really living like you used to' and i swear if my dad told me he's been doing it for years, that's okay then-all gravy-the cunt knows what he's doing but if they say they been doing it for years i'll cut sick, i'll probably gag at them for lying about a lack they work to believe and a lack that I believe in.
I ask myself, why can't you see that it's just going to get worse because people are made to forget. People are made to leave, and go and especially come back. What's better when your friend leaves and then he comes back cos he's bored? Only if you're busy you'd be stoked. And so this brings me to the end of the days, and the end of my speech, (so I speak about the last issue as if it's the worse; only to then decide whether or not I should be ending on a terrible note or should I pick things up,, if I knew how *I'll just wait and see then) It pains me to not only believe but know now that people are suffering, and the days are shorter because of the people. Because of the people spending ess time in day not because of the Sun or the World and what He makes of it but the people can't handle longer days. It's simply it. They are E.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e. and I haven't heard one mouth speak up about it, and I actually dead set fuckin wouldn't even bar a slice of it because I never had before, I never used to my whole life until the two-oh so if I wasn't holding a public march as a stance on the main St in the city, putting my head on the line AT LEAST (by vinaylla) I don't know how these houses would be.. Those men who are crying are not smart enough to know the difference between if they should put their feet up on the coffee table, or not. A feeling of common parity barely mercified from that of the rose in architecture, my family, the family, the family, the family i was brought up in, the family I was given born or hoodlum, the family that was taken from me from Those who are Living the life without the capitals.. I know this because they'res less talking to myself not by the means of good company but I know Insight, I know where every cunt should be looking but yet alas I don't how far -into the future*should they be looking.. Because that vision has to do with pride and current independence, if they should have a massive "fuck-it" or "fuck-everyone". No body says fuck you to those whom know they're safe, they got what they love, and by bitter means of the lesser apparent: a good conversation but that's not to say I talk good conversation because I don't anymore, they don't know this that I leave the conversation as Person B now, I can afford to do this but magical I may be if I bequeath choose to lead. As one conversation = friendship ultimately. And if it doesn't: you didn't grab their number or somebody made a rude remark.. *tsk tsk I'd say.. As yes, I am in serious disbelief and confusing when somebody shouts an ugly quote to either me or my friend randomly and renown.. It gets me confused and makes me ask "How did they find the time to think that?" "Why do they get to look at someone else like they're better than that" "Could that be the only guy that does that for miles? Just to even it out.. Thanks World for trying to make things normal but that cunt shouldn't be the lucky one" "He shouldn't be the one that gets to live like we used to considering he's an asshole".
Why and as if they are magical, because they are not... IN THE WINTER (winter) you and you lot are. I lack these days as The Astor sold out and shit itself, I should really do something about it.. This has happened over 50 times and I don't have the brain capacity to go and fetch what those scavenges have ripped and dredged from me one by one. I've only been waiting to live as the ingenue you like I used to be when I just had no idea.
Life is simpler, it's nicer you think your murderers are there for you, you think they care about you which they should be in any retrospect but these days, they do not.. They do not feel anything for the victim and at that point in time (bigger than that very moment) they're not just doing their job, they're moving in opposites. Ohhhh moving in opposites, how this could make me cry by the sounds of it. The detriment, the stupidity, the shallow thought, the time you're wasting by doing this, the time your losing- Oh, the time you're losing can make me cry, for all I care. This still isn't me.
the best blog name
Thursday, March 31, 2016
internet flowers are fake
When I pictured your head rolling across the floor like it's been held in a jar of purified water and kept in the back of a Rolls Royce but you're still so this is all an illusion.
There is this agglomeration that builds up beneath my rib cage when I'm thinking back of you. All this rubbish I'm hearing in my head and you're not answering your phone.
You know how this makes me feel. So I churn
And I look up at the buildings whilst I cry and yes sister, they're seeming much taller than the streams of my tears that have ran down my cheeks, for you.
These alignments I succumb by farther a crude magnitude on my stomach; it churns again and my face crinkles up.
As it's tries to shrink itself and get everything out that exists underneath it as loss about dirt, soil and purity for the scrunch. So I scrunch up my nose and turn out my cheeks, and watching myself crying is less entertaining than it usually is.
This is real sorrow, my sadness dressed a wreck upon question, and doubt. Questions I ask myself, questions you can't answer because I can't reach you, I thought - anymore.
There is this agglomeration that builds up beneath my rib cage when I'm thinking back of you. All this rubbish I'm hearing in my head and you're not answering your phone.
You know how this makes me feel. So I churn
And I look up at the buildings whilst I cry and yes sister, they're seeming much taller than the streams of my tears that have ran down my cheeks, for you.
These alignments I succumb by farther a crude magnitude on my stomach; it churns again and my face crinkles up.
As it's tries to shrink itself and get everything out that exists underneath it as loss about dirt, soil and purity for the scrunch. So I scrunch up my nose and turn out my cheeks, and watching myself crying is less entertaining than it usually is.
This is real sorrow, my sadness dressed a wreck upon question, and doubt. Questions I ask myself, questions you can't answer because I can't reach you, I thought - anymore.
There are two things, if I could write a letter to some guy that leads the shit that scares us, I'd write to tell him that they're running for a reason because that's a given. I'd actually tell him that I paused writing in that moment just then to only realise that slight litigation that we're not even running. I'd ask; are the rest running or are they waiting to die? And he'd just saying cunningly, "which seems more pleasant?" meanwhile adjusting his suspenders with a fleshy snap.
A one man wolf pack. One track. One minding single handedly thought he only seems to be avoiding things. Falling down them, slipping down them like soft leather and a TV remote, he loves, he loves and according to the column of his buttons his fuse mounds throwing plastic bowls against walls like the hope he has, hoping they would break. He can lay the gaff and deliberate by the clock as he slides through sand for a graze when he speaks.
Hopelessly afloat when he opens his mouth.
Like he's an alec from Barbados, a taut straw hat strict without any bits sticking out to say I love you. His personality, at the cliff edge rocked with wit like he's not serious, and flamboyant about his own jokes he let's that shit go.. Until the time is right. There isn't an ounce of patience left at his back door step but he keeps to insist. A lover of time - and work - - subdue it seems to be handled minutely at once as a possibility. He loves to think with a fleck he fends off thought as if it was war time. A war we don't know whether or not if it's a battle or the becoming of a soldier that epitomises giving it up in what stance? Every day passes as he counts them without focusing on the hours before his cares, and his sunsets so technically, to him, and me; tomorrow can't fall. He will stare into predicament because to him that's not it all, the day isn't all it's worth because it entails a gratification to patience and a shallow justification to waiting each time guaranteed.
A one man wolf pack. One track. One minding single handedly thought he only seems to be avoiding things. Falling down them, slipping down them like soft leather and a TV remote, he loves, he loves and according to the column of his buttons his fuse mounds throwing plastic bowls against walls like the hope he has, hoping they would break. He can lay the gaff and deliberate by the clock as he slides through sand for a graze when he speaks.
Hopelessly afloat when he opens his mouth.
Like he's an alec from Barbados, a taut straw hat strict without any bits sticking out to say I love you. His personality, at the cliff edge rocked with wit like he's not serious, and flamboyant about his own jokes he let's that shit go.. Until the time is right. There isn't an ounce of patience left at his back door step but he keeps to insist. A lover of time - and work - - subdue it seems to be handled minutely at once as a possibility. He loves to think with a fleck he fends off thought as if it was war time. A war we don't know whether or not if it's a battle or the becoming of a soldier that epitomises giving it up in what stance? Every day passes as he counts them without focusing on the hours before his cares, and his sunsets so technically, to him, and me; tomorrow can't fall. He will stare into predicament because to him that's not it all, the day isn't all it's worth because it entails a gratification to patience and a shallow justification to waiting each time guaranteed.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
I've misplaced flare, hairy boots walk with strands for anklets. Beads consecutive awake and soaked by some. I drank some. So I'm loyal to enough.
Finding a quest is the same verb covering it's self as a verb to what every body does as themselves, every day.
An overlap though a discussion so typically made to create tears about contradiction. So those torn and shot are doing it wrong as the end meets, and the sky is covered like a blanket of stars that shine altitude as if we knew nothing more.
So alive as if we were swimming through the orange tinge of sand, drunk, trying to put a name to who we are if we're falling down a hill. As if it was so bad falling over. We need that script written as a scream for moments of living like Pink Floyd's smear of guitar dust and sound was apparent and untrustworthy, it seems. As these deem a lack of packaged expectation for my daily living these days, as the winds won't pick up the sand from that part of the desert I can see. Just as if my health was worth more to what I see. Gratified hesitation.
These grains I used to feel.
Monday, March 14, 2016
This is ramble ignorino
My eagle, my best friend I should have bought you flowers if I had another chance maybe, baby as I was wrong, I wrote the wrong warnings and sour it was I made you blink twice and worry I'm sorry.
Slumped and blown out now I copy that Roger and say I'm a burnt out race car. They've stopped now doll, there's no more than a dug up trech by society of ugly words and powerful monsters that are already paid for.
I don't rap anymore doll, I don't like wind runner jackets no more but Nike the friend I never had. I need to tell you and now I'm thinking new so apologies if this is shit but careless fashion I forget about on the occasion but a new creditability raised up to me the other week - of savvy brands that stock cotton fleece pants in one man's sad and trashed. It's shocking man I'm stolen at hand and by that I mean, my stuff's scanned. It's Richard allowance wretched and lukewarm to a likewise plead catch squirming to let loose and let go, and get lost.
They justice said worn what I am told now on the reg. Written maybe not but I think that's what they meant but this is special. I still am holding bold barely beautiful but beauty is beauty and so if said merely genderised by pure self compliment and belief, so personal Doll, I'm suffering and I'm exceptionally eccentric Towner judge to agitate the poverty waive.
I say there's no mean to language and a call to jump to what you think, yes I still believe in the letter as an intellectual infidelity to our daily bigger like a buffet is different to breakfast, even though we eat and devour and munch and nibble and swallow bad news and swallow our tears so we reframe turning into an outpour of blubbering wet mess for that moment which, by the way, I can't help but open my eyes dry and laugh and mind you, keep blinking cos I'll believe it. ---so it's sad when we cry. But it used to be sadder.
It's frowned down to spout the less if little branded they've already left. Saying if you ain't good you don't have a place. So I'll click my tongue at those who are crying because they've cried beforehand and fuck them, you could be worrying about what sort of person you are but these people aren't because they believe they were rubbed into the dishwashing job in their own life.
Which is a shit corner to stand, mind you and I know you're asking, 'are you? Do you dishwasher or dish wash your own life as if it was the duty of your life; to take care of yourself?' - I'll answer that amongst the churn of feelings I can literally see I'm supposed to feel. There's chapters I can respond either they are augmented- that's for sure, or segmented like a worm peach surrounds my head like a turbo Doll I don't need to clean up in my life ever, if I want to get better About myself it's buying new clothes to make me feel better. How that works is a track of simplicity that's obvious as to where I'm going or want to go in the future. But I was shaped as this announced I will stay, I want to- but a program polar to Landmark deity about complication and eye contact because freedom of will and as anarchy is not comically taught but a trade in this world. My fashion trends doll on a weekly toll but they won't fade as it's everyday we dress to cross hearts and count the beats. Small countries alike we walk alone fashionably with an opinion costly and unjust we attempt as general civilians vast on experience and living. Either I'm dying max, or every one's fading and you care because you're not sure if growing up sucks or hurts more. I think the same. It just sucks. It sucks because it gives us an amount of gayness we can count yet don't agree with. All these artificial "perfections" everywhere we all just think it's barely boring, or they think we're swimming. Since when the fuck are we swimming? We're on the walk bro and looking good is the least of our worries as the lower pinnacle. Less is a difference that we make the feeling shadowing or glowing from ourselves when something good or bad happens. Those moments are supposed to be simple and independent, I think, like friendship. Why thank what has been brought because I don't have time not to exclaim anymore, I'm tied up to hardly sketchy and only trusting-clarity. Enough of my thoughts, I'm an absolute incredible mess changing the pencil I'm using to often when I'm trying to act.
Slumped and blown out now I copy that Roger and say I'm a burnt out race car. They've stopped now doll, there's no more than a dug up trech by society of ugly words and powerful monsters that are already paid for.
I don't rap anymore doll, I don't like wind runner jackets no more but Nike the friend I never had. I need to tell you and now I'm thinking new so apologies if this is shit but careless fashion I forget about on the occasion but a new creditability raised up to me the other week - of savvy brands that stock cotton fleece pants in one man's sad and trashed. It's shocking man I'm stolen at hand and by that I mean, my stuff's scanned. It's Richard allowance wretched and lukewarm to a likewise plead catch squirming to let loose and let go, and get lost.
They justice said worn what I am told now on the reg. Written maybe not but I think that's what they meant but this is special. I still am holding bold barely beautiful but beauty is beauty and so if said merely genderised by pure self compliment and belief, so personal Doll, I'm suffering and I'm exceptionally eccentric Towner judge to agitate the poverty waive.
I say there's no mean to language and a call to jump to what you think, yes I still believe in the letter as an intellectual infidelity to our daily bigger like a buffet is different to breakfast, even though we eat and devour and munch and nibble and swallow bad news and swallow our tears so we reframe turning into an outpour of blubbering wet mess for that moment which, by the way, I can't help but open my eyes dry and laugh and mind you, keep blinking cos I'll believe it. ---so it's sad when we cry. But it used to be sadder.
It's frowned down to spout the less if little branded they've already left. Saying if you ain't good you don't have a place. So I'll click my tongue at those who are crying because they've cried beforehand and fuck them, you could be worrying about what sort of person you are but these people aren't because they believe they were rubbed into the dishwashing job in their own life.
Which is a shit corner to stand, mind you and I know you're asking, 'are you? Do you dishwasher or dish wash your own life as if it was the duty of your life; to take care of yourself?' - I'll answer that amongst the churn of feelings I can literally see I'm supposed to feel. There's chapters I can respond either they are augmented- that's for sure, or segmented like a worm peach surrounds my head like a turbo Doll I don't need to clean up in my life ever, if I want to get better About myself it's buying new clothes to make me feel better. How that works is a track of simplicity that's obvious as to where I'm going or want to go in the future. But I was shaped as this announced I will stay, I want to- but a program polar to Landmark deity about complication and eye contact because freedom of will and as anarchy is not comically taught but a trade in this world. My fashion trends doll on a weekly toll but they won't fade as it's everyday we dress to cross hearts and count the beats. Small countries alike we walk alone fashionably with an opinion costly and unjust we attempt as general civilians vast on experience and living. Either I'm dying max, or every one's fading and you care because you're not sure if growing up sucks or hurts more. I think the same. It just sucks. It sucks because it gives us an amount of gayness we can count yet don't agree with. All these artificial "perfections" everywhere we all just think it's barely boring, or they think we're swimming. Since when the fuck are we swimming? We're on the walk bro and looking good is the least of our worries as the lower pinnacle. Less is a difference that we make the feeling shadowing or glowing from ourselves when something good or bad happens. Those moments are supposed to be simple and independent, I think, like friendship. Why thank what has been brought because I don't have time not to exclaim anymore, I'm tied up to hardly sketchy and only trusting-clarity. Enough of my thoughts, I'm an absolute incredible mess changing the pencil I'm using to often when I'm trying to act.
Definite quiet defense defenseless dead I feel like flying all things come to an end call spiral cord looking twirling it with your finger playing with the ground eye contact taboo tattoo bamboo shutter pane pain game rain on the window sill. My bamboo my lips on my tea the rain calls me. Weary tears could hop hipster anime tragic wrinkly face. Running down streams streaming stressful sketch of surreal eyes third blind all upon the others reaction really strike them. Down they fall the tears red and fuchsia rats like them as tears we crawl. We are the cries howling however for the snob and snot of our enemies see and sea chinging - jingling keys face beyond busy stars stars and stars starships Noah's Ark square today above and upon Buzz Light year does not cry. But we do. Comically a copy collection creditable hands nails hammers nightclubs hardship hardship love King Street rodents shard jelly frizz authors vehicles dangling tangle tinkle twinkle design design decrease beneath hide we cry do we don't sleep by chills for thrills I won't rhyme now sun shiny day all the bad feels bills cost contains a frost misty feelings mighty more awake is slept underneath ample tranquil thin for horses thicker drinks we're raped paddling through the river of our teas. Thick for jazz microphone for soul speech forth rhythm and a box of magic racing raining magic magician made me sad-dad Sad-Dad stubborn man stuffed rest the cool collect unfunny man stop revealing your making sad-dad sad and doing dance dance dad move your knees groove for speak instead sadness madness we forget music tick drugs sapphire stores gemstone people crazy diamond shining mourning cries lost death difficult resurrect desire empire emerald flat plane more pain trainer engagement gallop plink stop seize halt tearing ducts ripped bawling bowls filled droplets smog a sneak shot smeared since young sad country swing unison need news union unity university slam sheep rape again. This is not New Zealand zero hearing heroes utter a towel to soak twice twice freedom how do we do so so strum our teeth squeaky like mice ordered music peaky publically roses spitty bum dalmatian eventual sticky and I can't howl nor hold now now stronger bails of hay to decoy vanilla ice baby pork chop Victoria market eroded errors dead swamp sold critical concoction living on romp more vanilla ice crisis so cry cry crystal nice price prove amazing serious jungle apology cos then consensual exclusive excellent except one sidedly and they say that rhythm I had no idea choose a choice there's room my mate tricks may sound tiles ting hill ball we roll they kill still n say we job just-just stutter this thing own bone tinkle cos I'm scares me was mean I exclaim I don't like jazz jewel ridden thin like horses tense shine and stream as the men who say sugar big that's it law it pour it if I sing look out above backs area see held up coat hanger. You poor thing
Rain tea
Tastes like boiling water (as usual) poured for a tea and with cold tap water as a garnish there you have tea that tastes like tea made from rain.
This is not a life cheat, and it does make you a better person regardless peppermint. With this tea: sugar stirs -And stirs some more. A ramification to something that's missing a little something.
[Not a toll on your road to wherever your going, this tea is different yet severely vindictive to your daily needs.
With tea as barely a necessity easily quite missed by some; the cold water brings an upsetting cuppa taste and delivers an assumption of patience -waiting around your bench for something happier -not better.]
A personal statement choice of tea is at a percentile. -Earl Grey as raintea is in fact bearable.
I'm tired of
I'm tired of enters and urging tiredness to a someone that willingly will cup their hands together and offered to catch my urine like when we were in the car and I exclaimed I needed to pee.
Cute.
I'll say it's cute but I think I need to commend this a little more. This shit doesn't happen often. And I would like to say, needing someone doesn't happen often. But everyone needs somebody to offer to catch their piss throughout those hardest times of not having a toilet to piss in.
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