Week old tincture tinted with lemon-grass and snod-grass and grease from black beer-spilled book-bag.
Weak old tincture couldn't sustain relationships that envelop circadian rhythms that clash and grate against bunk-bed guards and bone hanging ceilings.
Play bill: swam in the shallows, metamorphosed, gender bended unwavering and unending personal development through catharsis.
Pushy beliefs pushed on people who don't believe, who won't believe in the "serenity of a clear blue mountain lake." Science, and logic, and classical hodge-podge of ideas, no, of theories; that makes sense.
The non-sensical is the warm. The un, understood is the energy. The sun shines in hard, unforgiving through the frosted window, blinding me and I trust my instincts suddenly.