The flower grew within, the fumes were fornicated. Bastards grew on paper, spilt ink spread their legs to the core of chaos. Thus the evil brewed bombs. You don’t see a shadow in the dark docile day. Only when it burns you can see your damned skin and the fire. The shadow of a truth turning grey, sat beside by the yellow day!
Sunday 1st April 2018 6:29 pm
Thinking isn’t your game, anymore.
Wait for the next reflex to barge in.
Sunday 1st April 2018 6:21 pm