when I say the wind blows you already know but how do the leaves portend emerald on the end or grasping to the limb?
If the Love is Lost, when? feelings were ample yet, when unplugged they limp lame sentiment in lieu of visceral slanguage; Who needs a Heart when a record can be Broken?
i think therefor iThoughts Depress into cracked lead and bled red into inkwell; gun shots have more potent stocks tragically hip to be so square ingots
what gracious melodies and languid lives battered idioms with only one just is to bear how Sad their flirtatious Ness affair with Pain must fin' ish and putrefy, those believers in Death will die
hail a Hashtag worthy of Octothorp for phoenixes are found everyday prostrate your Poetry for posthumous consumption apply the alembic of alteration and Heal our Hashtag heathen history or **** It Hate the Hashtag that's Life!