Oh I cannot help this bad poetry. An evil muse has my family and dictates every word. Really. Every groan millimeters them to freedom. It's a European muse. Hummm. 414 followers / 35.1k words
The tilt moves and I am leaning down again I spin myself right roun' or some such thing and the lean in I feel it like it smashes not this time my foreleg 'tracts and springs
On an edge bliss or dissipation a holding pattern call it judgement fall in a direction hope for rightness not righteousness that sugar a favourite of demonstrative accumulators are you one no not here u aren't