I cry for the unsure paths I carve out to stamp in a- what seems to be in permanent ink of the unexpected turns I must take in order to clear out my head. I repeatedly stand on a soap box preaching all the mysteries of the world all the whilst shouting with a slit throat as too how the future should be, for me.
But I don't know.
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 1:01 AM UTC
I cry for the unsure paths I carve out to stamp in a- what seems to be in permanent ink of the unexpected turns I must take in order to clear out my head. I repeatedly stand on a soap box preaching all the mysteries of the world all the whilst shouting with a slit throat as too how the future should be, for me.
But I don't know.
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