"abcs" poems
I feel like a friend-- a true friend,
is more than a profile on a website.
And peace is more than a handshake agreement
brought by the outcome of a gruesome fight.
I know that self worth is more than someone's opinion,
and in no other dominion but mine own to foster and care for.
And I can see that happiness is more than having money, sure,
cause most of us laugh everyday here, and come on, we're dirt poor.
And I pray the human soul is more than Casper's counterpart,
somewhere between the heart and the pancreas.
And God, faith is so much more than cryin' and dyin'
over spilt milk between religions.
And in case you were confused, "I love you", is more than
pet names, bed games, and ***
Music is more than pimps, hoes, and MTV Shows, and T-Pain singin through a computer.
Believe that life is more than grades and degrees,
or drugs and disease,
or the 'ABCs' of success that some old man wrote a thousand years ago.
This poem has to be more than words strewn together
to voice my discontent at the status-quo..
Hell, the word "more" itself is more than a one-syllable statment
that what we lack in the present
is just a larger quantity of the **** "we already have",
and no!
The power of your silent agreement is more than that
of my voice alone, so...
What is "more"?
In many ways, "more" is the friend you never had.
More peace in the world would end all the mindless bloodshed.
More respect and selfworth would bring beauty back to youth,
especially to the women in the world,
that sell their unique souls to look like the cover of Cosmo.
More faith, that grants serenity in the times of hardship,
will be the soothing hand of an Angel on our shoulders as
we say, "I love you" to our enemies, martyrs for a better world.
More positive music will inspire us,
to be the change we want to see in the world, today,
instead of, "Waitin' on the World to Change "♫ ♪ ♫♪
So ladies and gentlemen, make a decision: if you want to be
critics and vipers,
war mongers and hope-snipers,
ignore my intention, and live with more division.
But, if any of you are artists starving for meaning and inspiration,
if you envision a world of more than... THIS...
Then let a word change a feeling,
change a thought, change a meaning,
change your mind...
And get more out of life.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 1:38 PM UTC
Sunday:
Ant Pills
Bear Traps
Cobra Feet
Monday:
Dolphin Lungs
Eel Soup
Frog Limbs
Tuesday:
Gecko Suits
Horse Pie
Inchworm ***
Wednesday:
Jaguar Barbed
Koala Beer
Lynx Lynch
Thursday:
Monkey Chips
Narwhal Fashions
Otter Drugs
Friday:
Porcupine Rehab
Quail Map
Roadrunner Piano
Saturday:
Slug Party
Turkey Slop
Urchin See
Sunday:
Vulture Guns
Walrus Tongues
X No
Monday:
Yellowjacket Fever
Zebra Clowns
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:08 PM UTC
I've learned my ABCs at one,
learned to read by four,
constructed my paragraphs at six,
a know-it-all reciting parts of speech by seven.
Letters assembled themselves ready for scrabble.
Rocks, paper, scissors,
I never learned to let go of the paper.
And grew up with dry fingers caressing books.
Breathing in language and literature.
They say you can only love something so much
until it leaves you empty.
But I've only ever truly loved a few things about life,
and first was how words strung empathy.
The way I wrote about tying yellow ribbons on trees for a hero at eleven,
wrote about anything that won me passports to a passion I had to sacrifice a few years later after fourteen,
wrote about the boy who broke my heart at seventeen,
wrote about the monsters in my head at nineteen.
I don't know how words always found me
whenever I tried to run away from the world;
how they kept my sanity along with melodies for as long as I can remember,
and made countless others feel less alone.
What I love is a weapon
that has sparked revolutions, waged wars.
What I love is art that built acropolises from embers
and most the world's wonders.
It rushes euphoriant through my veins as much as it does through yours,
yet it is neither blood nor oxygen.
It is all the words burning as we keep them hidden,
dying for us to give them meaning.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 11:54 PM UTC
Why oh why do I love pie?
The ABCs of it and
the LMNO-Pie of it
A Apple Pie
B Boston cream Pie
C Cherry Pie
D Dutch Apple Pie
E Equation Pie 3.14
F Fruit Pie
G Grandma's Gooseberry Pie
H Humble Pie
I Ice Cream Pie
J Jell-O Pudding Pie
K Kidney Pie
L Lemon Meringue Pie
M Moon Pie
N Nutty Pecan Pie
O Oreo Cookie Crust Pie
P Pud'nin Pie
Q Quick Set Frozen Cream Pie
R Rhubarb Pie
S Sweet Tater Pie
T Tuxedo Pie
U Upside Down Pineapple Pie
V Velvet Truffle Pie
W Whip Cream Pie
X PIE IN THE FACE
Y Yummy Pie
Z Zesty Lemon/Lime Pie
Now you have the XYZ of it
and the PIE of it
Why oh why do you love Pie?
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Always saying I love you, baby.
But they’ve only been together a day.
Captivated by the way the
Darkness of each other’s pupils grow
Every time they touch.
Forcing the kind of relationships, but more of the
Groping, that they saw in the movies.
Heated make out sessions in the church youth room, with
Intensity that could make strippers blush.
Juxtaposing every inch of their bodies.
Knowing what to do only because of what they
Learned in health class. Trying to
Master the art of *** and what they call love,
Not caring who knows. Living off each
Other’s breaths. Fabricating
Plans and stories for their parents when they’re caught
Quietly sneaking back into their
Rooms at four in the morning,
Shutting their doors and their eyelids,
Tracing remnant goose bumps.
Until the sun shines into their windows,
Violating their dreams of Cinderella and Prince Charming,
Washing the night from their skin, and shoving their
****** memories to the back and hiding them in a drawer.
Yearning to be touched again, by whom ever the next
Zephyr can blow into their neighborhood.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
See you our server farm that hums
And serves HTTP?
It's spun its disks and done its sums
Ever since Berners-Lee.
See you our mainframe spewing out
The Towers of Hanoi?
It's moved recursive discs about
Since Babbage was a boy.
See you our ZX81
That prints the ABCs?
That very program used to run
With Lovelace at the keys.
Magnetic floppy disks and hard,
And tape with patience torn,
And eighty columns on a card,
And so was England born!
She is not any common thing,
Water or Wood or Air,
But Turing's Isle of Programming,
Where you and I will fare.
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
The clock smiled at us
as if it knew we were lost.
Unable to see the path, we continued along
on the wrong side of the ones and zeroes.
Tired of our aimless float;
fumbling along in the vacuums of our ignorance.
With all kinds of navigational aids to chart our journey
we mostly relied upon the compass tattooed over our hearts
While lost in the chasm of our indecision
our bodies and minds listed.
Our attempts to unpack the endless
parcels of our unrest ... proved futile.
So carefully, we re-learned the ABCs
and re-interpreted the Western Canon, finding
that it was only by closing our eyes
that we were able to see; were able to feel.
However, the rhythm was off
which was immaterial as
our feathers were ruffled and
the rhetoric was pluming.
With the overture of the new day dawning
we turned our back
on the algorithms of our demise
and shucked off self-imposed limitations.
You see, it was thirty seconds to midnight and
the world that never seemed to want us
needed us now.
So like anemic royalty, we took flight
breathing down rarefied air and
gulping the nuances of our resilience to swallow:
our intergenerational trauma
one more time.
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 8:09 PM UTC
I will work for food
The sign he held in his hand
As the cars drove by
Giving nothing in his can
Thinks of his children
At school learning ABCs
Wondering tonight
What food will we have to eat
A passer by yells
Get a job you piece of crap
Times used to be good
Then economic mishap
Tears well in his eyes
Because he did think the same
Now on the corner
Wondering who is to blame
It will be simple
If the sign says I will work
The pain is the same
Makes him want to go berserk
All day he holds it
He tries to think how to change
Things for his children
Get things back to being plain
Time to get the kids
Tonight they have a burger
Reaching the shelter
He looks after their hunger
Tomorrow looks bright
He has money to start with
Looking for a job
Gone is his faith in the myth
The myth that is told
If you keep on working hard
Life will be better
Living without being marred
No matter stature
Could happen to anyone
Have it all today
Tomorrow it could be gone
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 12:04 AM UTC
Anytime you feel lonely
Beckon for me to come into your arms
Catch hold of my hand in the shadows, in the back row
Don't let go.
Every day is a new day
Feeling good
Good feeling
Happy... Almost.
I don't want you to leave as well
Just stay, please...
Keep your fingers crossed
Love the way that your dark eyes shine so brightly
My heart races in your presence
No good can come from this
Only few understand.
Please hold on for a little longer
Quit with the teasing already
Ridiculous, our circumstances...
Slow down, I want to know more
Tell me your deepest secrets
Under the light of the moon.
Velvet blankets, picnic baskets
What's next?
Xoxo, your biggest fan
You never did understand my jokes
Zzzzzz, goodnight, day dreamer...
*Now I know my ABCs,
Next time won't you comfort me?*
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
Absolutely and without a doubt she is the
Best thing that ever happened me. She strode
Casually and awkwardly into my life, in the process
Defining for me the until-then
Ever-changing parameters of what I wanted.
**** I can’t get out of my mind this blue eyed
Goddess of a girl who is always
Hoping for something more.
I love her so much and yet I have a habit of playing practical
Jokes to hide how much the distance is
Killing me.
Looking at us, you would never know we’ve spent
More months apart than we had together.
Never did I think that she would be The
One; that love would be so easy; that she would be so
Perfect.
Questions ricochet around the mazes of her mind, she examines the world extensively,
Riveting anyone who takes the time to listen to her discoveries.
Sassy, **** and smart, she’s got everything and
To me she is everything.
Ubiquitous, there is nothing that doesn’t make me think of this girl, life itself serving as a constant
Validation that she exists- that she is not too good to be true.
While the earth rockets its way through space it’s as if
Xanthan gum holds us together, no matter how far apart you
Yank us, we’re stuck like glue. I could talk about her forever, literally
Zillions of words could be said about this wonder of a woman who will never cease to be
The alphabet spelling out the rhythm of my heart.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
There strolls another father,
Scrolling while his daughter
Rides her stroller as they stroll.
He really oughtn't scroll,
She's awake as they stroll;
It's a stroller, not a scroller.
The purpose of a stroll,
Is to walk and talk the prattle,
The speach that infants rattle
While strolling in their stroller.
Sing to your child,
Stroll all the while,
Hum or whistle,
Mumble……..Grumble;
But don't silently scroll on,
While strolling with the stroller.
Recall childhood rhymes, if you can,
Say the ABCs or count to ten;
Talk of little piggies and brazen toads,
Meaningful memories,
And yellow brick roads.
Enjoy your strolling.
Enjoy your scrolling.
Aug 6, 2023
Aug 6, 2023 at 5:05 PM UTC
Apologies
Promises to new beginnings
second chances
second chances
I gave us another try
Broken
Oh! My stomach
it dropped
it dropped
like the death of a thousand butterflies
Concealment
The real you
no virtue
no truth
only lies
Deception
There were others
other women
other girls
I was just another prize
Excitemnt
You wanted me
my heart
my heart
it leaped with pride
Friendship
We were together
first date
first kiss
you laughed, I sighed
Goodbyes
Your mind changed
unresolved
unexplained
for all my life I'll wonder why
Hesitaion
Should I fight?
with words
with effort
No I keep these feelings inside
Introspection
I want answers
was it me?
was it me?
My insecurities multiply
Jaded
Overwhelmed with fatigue
eyes closed
eyes closed
I sleep off the day though it isnt dignified
Knowledge
to lack experience
sheltered
sheltered
Perhaps Im not as qualified
Lonliness
I reach for
the phone
the phone
Then hang up because its better to hide
Moments
replaying real scenarios
your movements
your smile
My mind now fully occupied
Nothing
are you ok?
its nothing
its nothing
I say! Except for my heart collapsing in like some silent suicide
Opportunities
another suitor approaches
he inquires
he inquires
Doesnt he know Im terrified?
Prospects
He likes me
feelings
feelings
I cant decide
Quiet
praying, hands extended
only silence
only silence
I look up into an empty sky
Rumors
you speak badly
of me
of me
mouth opened wide
Stagnet
affection comes slow
Im shy
Im shy
Men come at me in strides
Tragedy
all my efforts
in vain
in vain
Desires split, disperse, then divide
Unexplored
"True Love Waits"
***
***
Acceptable only when Im someones bride
Vows
made in wine
never again
never again
Words often pledged when I think on you and I
Wasted
all this time
true love
real love
You mean to tell me it died? Was crucified?
Xs
Your new girlfriend
dont stare
dont stare
I turned my face I think I cried
Years
Life goes on
Tick
Tock
Please hurry and pass me by
Zigzags
Poems wrote in
fragments
lines
Painful rejection glorified
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
Alone.
By September until who knows when, that is how I will start and end my days.
Calm mornings will no longer begin with the sound of your chatter.
Dead silence will fill the air as I eat my dinner all alone.
Every empty chair will be a reminder that you are not home.
From spending almost every waking hour together, we will only exchange brief messages each day.
Growing up has led us to this—one of you in Manila and the other one in Tokyo.
I’ll feel stuck in the four corners of my little room while you’re both someplace else.
Just the thought of not having both of you around makes me feel like a deer caught in the headlights.
Kisses, embraces, and affectionate teasing only older sisters could ever give will become less frequent…
Loneliness is something I have never known.
Mom and Dad will still be here, but they will be busy too, and I would not want to bother them.
Nothing will fill in the spaces of the house the way they’re occupied while you’re here—
One of you painting in watercolor by the windowsill, the other one listening to music until the wee hours of the morning.
Please always tell me about your day while you’re away, no matter how ordinary or great it may be.
Q¬uiet the noises that will shout in the head of a younger sister who is all alone.
Rise and live the way you have always wanted, but don’t forget about me.
Shine to the world the way you shine in my eyes.
Think of me as I think of you.
Ultimately, all I will do will come down to waiting for you to come back home.
Vinyls we share will rarely spin, the books we borrow from one another will be left to dust on the shelves.
What was once a house filled to the brim with voices and love only sisters could have will feel spacious and empty.
Xylophone clanging and the strumming of the guitar from the childhood we shared will seem so distant, but I will do all I can to make it feel like you are not far away—
Your favorite song will come up on the radio on some nights and I will sing along as we would sing together:
“Ziggy played guitar, jamming good with Weird and Gilly, and the spiders from Mars….”
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
Before I ever went to school
I thought I knew it all
I could count to ten and back again
And bounce a rubber ball
I could spell my name with no mistakes,
Knew 1 and 1 is 2,
Knew how to say the alphabet
And how to tie my shoe.
Then I went to school and found I didn’t know a lot.
There was so much stuff I had to know I mostly just forgot.
Music, art, and English, physics, bio, French, and math.
Social studies, history, so much stuff it made me laugh.
My younger self had no idea how much more there was to know
The more I aged the more I knew the more I’d learn and grow.
When I finished high school I was smarter than before
I knew I didn’t know it all so I went back to learn some more.
This time when I went to school I wasn’t so naïve.
I knew I’d have to hit the books in order to achieve.
If grade school was confusing I figured college would be worse.
If I was going to expand my mind I should expect a lot of work.
There was a lot more subjects and they took a lot more time.
I wondered how there could be room to store so much knowledge into just one mind.
You know that feeling that you get when there’s so much knowledge you feel as though
If they feed you any more of it your head just might explode?
My mind was like a barrel that was filled up past the brim with rocks
And when you tried to add one more, then two would trickle off.
I thought that I would have to quit but there was still so much I didn’t know.
But I chose to stay though doom seemed near because I didn’t want to go.
With failure in my future I bit my lip and I pressed on.
In time I noticed something odd, some of the rocks were gone.
But the rocks had not been falling out as I tossed more in from my hand
They simply had begun to change from rocks right into sand.
All these things I knew
Were now all becoming one
Witch made more room for knowing more
And knowing once more was fun
It wasn’t like when I was small
And thought I knew it all.
But the ease of it was similar
I felt more on the ball.
I recalled before I went to school
And 4 things that I knew:
Spell my name, and 1+1,
ABCs, and tie my shoe.
The one main thing that I know now
That I didn’t know before
This list of things I knew is 2
It isn’t really 4.
Because I know my adding
It is very clear to see
I tie with laces 1 and 2
Not laces 1 and 3.
I spell my name with no mistakes
Because I know my ABCs.
It doesn’t mean that I know less
I just know with much more ease.
At first the more you know and know
The bigger is the mess.
But when it comes together
The load becomes much less
For when your barrel is so full
You think it will explode
The rocks will blend together
And you’ll have more room to grow.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
The Miss, Misters and Mrs.,
And the St. Joseph's Sisters,
Made me a Bluejay,
Jay- jaying and soaring
Over Wrens and Robins
Below in five rows.
Teeth marks on Ticondarogas,
Initialed pink rubbers,
Toothpicks and fingers
Solved all those problems.
Sister Lucille showed me Sarnia
On the Neilson Wall Map,
With the Malted Milk,
Crispy Crunch bars staring back.
They looked too delicious,
Her reprimand was contritious,
I'm doing time during recess,
Ninety minutes til lunch.
We stood in a crooked line,
Like a snake, to get marked,
With her drawer a crack open
We'd get a peek at her strap.
Black or red, correctively cold;
Sister Roseangela, we'd heard,
Cried, Quid Pro Quo.
We had football baseball,
And hockey dreams,
Volleyball, basketball,
And funeral teams;
Field Days, Holy Days,
Days needed at home;
Teachers were coaches,
With little time to complain;
But the kids back then
Just weren't the same.
There were skirmishes, fouls,
Strike outs and time outs;
We were sliced white bread,
No rye or whole grain.
We'd march double file
Once a week to the Church,
To genuflect and reflect
At the Stations and Cross.
To confess, get redress,
Display penitent remorse,
Though keeping a secret
From the Confessional box,
A comfort and curse.
Their objective succeeded,
The lessons went deep;
Using the three Rs,
The ABCs, 1, 2, 3s,
To impart and ingraine
How to carry one's cross.
I remember by name
The Miss, Misters and Mrs.
And St. Joseph's Sisters
Who gave their all,
Each day, and always.
They've gone or retired,
But recalled in tranquility
For the life-lessons I admire.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC
Astro capsuls(car) warm delight
Ballistic speeds to the extreme
Catagorised on shape and style
Detour from the mentor
Elevated on pavement close to enslavement
First to the mark forging through the dark
Grounds down below like a rivers flow
Highlighted with lines to guide you along
I see the danger to react is no stranger
Jerky action bad disaster
Klinkity klink klink on a broken castor
Left outta breath, DMT the chemical master
Money leaves my pocket to fix my expensive little rocket
Need all my wheels to feel, now its heel to heel
Orange is the word that mixes well with porrage
Porrage stays good in storage unlike an orange
Question the suggestion of a new auto selection
Running and walking without the radio theres more talking
Service stations fuel the imagination
Time slips by in the wink of an eye
Under the weather convertables arnt better
Vast spaces traced in the unknown race
Watching life through layers of sand
X-ray vision lights at hand
Yellow dot marks the spot of caution
Zenieth and zorrow were standing on the Yellow
and thats how i crashed my ABCs
next time wont you please
GET THE **** OFF THE ROAD for me
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 10:55 AM UTC
Amber was an atheist,
she thought the world was dumb as hell.
Britney was a botanist,
who had a fertilizer smell.
Candice was a coroner,
a scary passion for the stiffs.
Diana was a drummer chick,
that knew a few guitar riffs.
Evelyn was evil, man,
all leather suits and chains and whips.
Farrah was a therapist,
got in my brain with swinging hips.
Greta was a gunslinger,
she'd give most anything a shot.
Hannah was a homebody-
shy as hell, but twice as hot.
Iris was an Ivy Leaguer,
thought I was a total fool.
Janice was a juggler,
who liked to play with power tools.
Kimmy taught karate,
who dated me just for the kicks.
Louise was a lyricist,
who wrote about how guys were *****
Marilyn was mostly mean,
she liked to fight and then make up.
Nancy was so negative,
I had no choice but to break up.
Opal was an occultist,
who liked to gossip with the dead.
Paula was a **********
that made me pay to come to bed.
Queenie was inquisitive,
the questions were too much to bear.
Rosie was a recluse
who never shaved or brushed her hair.
Sidney was a sinful sort,
with toys and gadgets 'neath the bed.
Tina was a twisted chick,
with thirteen voices in her head.
Ursula was uber-cool,
always on the latest trends.
Vicky was on Vicodin,
and we all know how that one ends.
Wanda was a wanderer,
that left to join a circus troupe.
Xena the exhibitionist
liked to do it on the stoop.
Yolanda was young and fine,
and nearly cost me everything.
Zoey was a Zombie fan,
she got hot when he would sing.
I'd like to say I've settled down,
but since the alphabet is done,
I'm gonna met an Ann or Anita,
and give it all another run.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 5:19 AM UTC
I must've been more stressed than I seemed
Petting my dog, I released a guttural scream
I've been studying projectiles, calculus, and semantic ABCs
I just hope it's enough to get through the SATs
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC
A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y and Z.
Now you know your ABCs
Next time wont you sing with me
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
I live inside a little boy's head
My birth day was the day he figured out he had an imagination
Last night he had a nightmare
His dream only lasted a few minutes
But I lived inside that course of time for 10 months.
He dreamed of suicide and manic depression.
Upon awakening doused in sweat and tears
His mother told him it was only a dream.
He thought up the shape of my arms
Because he loved how his daddy's looked.
And then he curled my hair to look like the girl down the street.
At age 3 he learned his ABCs and
He dreamt me to be a writer.
He couldn't spell any of the words
That he pretended me to write.
I sleep more often now
Because he forgets to remember his dreams.
The little boy is getting older
And so am I.
My life unfolds in REM
My entire reality was built inside this little boy's head...
I hope he sleeps well tonight
Because it's been raining a lot
And the weatherman said that it would be sunny.
Someday when we're older
I will meet the little boy who invented me
But for now I only live inside a little boy's head
Being forgotten as he falls in love.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
wanting to pursue
encourage
getting fingerprints,
splatters
"It's amazing.
They're mesmerized."
end of their workshop,
children watched active detectives
while hooked
right questions
investigative tools,
early interest
a lifelike mannequin
in as the victim
molds of footprints
mind is made up, for now.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
A B C D E F G
I like the taste of raspberry tea
H I J K L M N O P
I really don't like celery
Q R S T U V
I like honey from a bee
W X Y & Z
I like to eat, can't you see?
by Matashdy
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
say your abcs now do your 123s HA! You drunk piece of **** scared my words will get you bit.
or my reality will turn you into real
you emotionally drain me your touch shoots through me ice cold like ******* to my vein
HERE! Unlock me from my misery quit haunting my dreams and let me be sane
my lies seem to be my truth my truth seem to be my lies
carve my soul and put me back on that booth
or drag me on azalea beds and throw me to the skies
thats where id rather be... yeah thats where i rather be
lost amongst the clouds of nothing.
for all of this eternity then maybe... just maybe.... ill be something
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
And that's the way it is
Before you even know it's too late
Counting your blessings seems vain
Doesn't it?
Even the bad die young
Forget everything I ever said
******* it
Half-empty glasses don't tip over
I can't prove that to you
Just to make you happy
Keep telling me I'm wrong
Lust is just safer than love
Make me want you only once
Next, forget my name
Only the lonely
Pretend to be fine
Questions only lead to things you don't want to hear
Rational people keep it all to themselves
Show me who I really am
Then trade me in for something new
Unwind yourself and
Very carefully
Wrap me in what bound you
X marks the spot
You'll use invisible ink and
Zone in on your target
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC