"aggravated" poems
The white man, can't say the word ***** They say because its offensive, it's rude, but I know the real reason why. I know, because that's what I am; a ****** Born as a ****** lived as ****** I know why the white man can't say the word ****** They say that it makes no sense for the blacks to use this insulting, disgusting term for themselves, but only because they don't know the true meaning. We bear the name as a scar, as a reminder of what we fought, of what we were. We bear the name as a reminder of our ancestors, and their long hot days in the cotton fields, picking until their finger tips were raw with blood, whipped until their skin was indistinguishable from the raw fleshy pulp that was their aggravated flesh laced with the crimson nectar of their veins. We bear the name, to remind ourselves, that even amidst all this we lived. We fought our way through the darkness of the tunnel. We bear our scar, to remind us, to remind you, that we survived, that we are survivors. I bear the name, I bear the scar of a ****** That is why we call ourselves the name ****** It is our word of honor, our mark of surviving. The white man is not worthy enough to call me a ******
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 9:46 AM UTC
Friend one:
Reads "Rotten Tomatoes"
Always early, parks in a handicap zone
Friend two:
quietly disapproves
knows Friend one walked her dog a mile earlier
Friend one:
moves her car
digs out two waters, chocolate
and back pillow
buys peace and tickets
Friend two:
catches sneeze with *** of tissue
aggravated exchange:
about walking too fast ahead.
“Are you not my friend? Walk with me!”
Buys popcorn
Friend one:
wants seats on the end
for handy bathroom runs
Friend two:
does not want “the blow by blow” of reasons
just not in rafters
sneezes, and says so
trips
spills popcorn on the stairs
Friend one:
Sets up “camp”
Friend two:
holds crap
Friend one:
Settles in, builds her "nest"
opens water bottles
arranges back pillow
half-a-million napkins
“Want your jacket?”
Friend two:
holds popcorn, helps Friend one with jacket
Friend one:
pushes button for her seat back
seat sounds like a ****
Friend two:
says so, both laugh like fools
Friend two sneezes loudly, rubs her eyes
loses self in movie
Friend one:
starts to snore quietly
Friend two:
nudges her
Friend one:
(Who is never really snoozing)
runs out to restroom
misses best part of movie
Comes back,
“What happened?”
What happened?”
Friend two:
aggravated
hushes her
takes allergy pill
Friend one:
weeping at the end, watches all the credits
starts her review
apologizing to the kids of theater-cleaning-crew
popcorn, napkins, tissues everywhere
Friend two:
Sneezes yet again
Friend one:
Knows all the stars--
of friendship
being how she is one :)
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
My love for you is complicated.
Sometimes you make me so aggravated,
while other times I'm just fascinated.
You are always so close to me.
They make me wish we could just be free
and from this world, we flee.
It's as if you make me want to want you.
I have no clue
what to do.
Just you are my one and only
Even if you make me feel so lonely.
But is our love just phony?
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
She’s the girl who you'd always run back to,
You’re the boy I’d always run back to.
She’s the girl who gave you the chills with her beauty,
You give me the chills with yours.
It’s funny how times change,
People you once loved now become strangers.
But- she’s a parasite,
Always latching onto you and taking what she can.
A symptom of a parasite is disturbed sleep,
She disturbs my sleep.
When I close my eyes I see her eyes,
Staring into yours.
One cure for a parasite is coconut oil,
But no oil or remedy will remove her.
The thought of her makes me aggravated,
Intimidated because really I’m giving her what she wants- you.
I’d like to say everything was fine until she came along,
However, she was always there.
We are smooth like foundation,
Then she comes along, our plates collide and the bumps in the road grow.
Now, I’m not one to gamble,
But I bet you’re talking to her right now.
Sorry I mean, I bet she’s talking to you,
Because we both know she can’t get enough.
I know you feel bad for her and I know you love me,
But why do you feel the need to type to x’s and give her promises I’ll make sure you won’t keep.
See, bless her, she’s having trouble moving on,
Clearly she loved you more than you loved her because you turned a page and started writing a new song.
The girl doesn’t threaten me,
I know we make each other feel new.
The only thing that makes me hurt,
Is how you aren’t letting her get over you.
You compliment, flirt and put kisses,
Just so she stays tame.
But to her you compliment, flirt and put kisses,
Because you clearly want her again.
She’s the girl who you'd always run back to,
You’re the boy I’d always run back to.
She’s the girl who gave you the chills with her beauty,
You give me the chills with yours.
One cure for a parasite is coconut oil,
You know her a lot better than me.
Maybe she’s allergic to coconuts…
Maybe.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
I’m fine, thanks…
Is that what you truly mean?
Or do you mean
I’m tired…
I’m lonely…
I’m hurt…
Confused. Bewildered. Angered.
Disillusioned…
Skeptical…
Or maybe
I’m distressed…
I’m woeful…
I’m pathetic…
Lost. Vulnerable.
Infuriated…
Empty. Lifeless. Crushed. Tortured. Dejected. Offended. Afflicted.
Desolate. Desperate. Rejected. Heartbroken…
Tormented…
I’m scared…
I’m disgruntled…
Embarrassed…
Weak. Dreadful. Hungry. Aggravated.
Guilty… Shameful… Frustrated… Jealous… Horrified…
Overwhelmed…
Devastated…
Defeated…
Is fine ever what you truly mean?
Or is it a cover?
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
Earlier today, painting was the activity that we had planned
I have a support teacher who would always lend a hand
She had left the class to get the paint all mixed
While I stayed behind to get the toys and props all fixed
She came back and bore bowls of red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Lunchtime I visited a store and neatly displayed on low shelves
Arranged so immaculately as if magically done by elves
Were cases upon cases stitched together with only zips
They almost instantly bent a smile to my lips
Their colours shone brilliant red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Passed by a shop selling accessories and apparel
Merchandise dangled on wall hooks and some in a jumble
On the adjacent wall something caught my eye
Carried all the neat little tote bags one could ever buy
One peeking from a corner was red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Walked by a building, so modern-looking and new
Down on one side almost obscured from view
Were these horizontal rows of dancing neon lights
Stopped for a minute just to soak in the sights
Then I realised that they flickered red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Waited for the bus to get home at my usual bus stop
Whilst waiting, I shifted and from my bag something did drop
Bent over and picked my coin pouch that had fallen out
Looked up only to see another commuter lingering about
On his pack was a sticker which boasted red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Bus was packed, found a seat in the back row
Sat myself down, I peered briefly out the window
Engine under me, I scanned around to those who were seated
Observed the floor beneath my shoes as it vibrated
My pair of Adidas, oh my, they're red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
Got home, put my bag down and sank into the sofa
Switched on the telly, on was the Food Network's "Barefoot Contessa"
Surfed through the channels, caught a real estate commercial
Promoting prime land in a country not anywhere regional
Splashed on the screen, a flag - red, white and blue
Made me think of...well, made me think of you.
End of the day, it is best that I hit the sack
Allow some rest for my poor aggravated back
But not till I complete the words you're currently reading
I'm thinking, dreaming and furiously typing
How do I end this? Hmm...red, white and blue?
I'm thinking and dreaming...and wishing I'm with you.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
*If aggravated
frustrated
Turn down
your anger*
Switch to the soulful relaxation
*and dance
to smooth
waves*
Let your mind free
*loving
your
body*
chilled out
*soul
loving
life*
Superlaciously Levitating
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC
i’ve long dreamt
of black flags in the streets
tonight i marched beneath
the shadow of their wings
shoulder-to-shoulder
in hope and solidarity
an anarchist professor
with a climate change activist
an independent journalist
and one of my students
as mid-November winds tugged
at her pink-and-brunette hair
she lifted a hand-drawn sign
of a gigantic sneaker
smashing a ****
and i felt
for not the first time
an enormous sense of pride
how humbling to at once
inspire and be inspired by
an eighteen-year-old
punk and artist
who asked to borrow
The Moral Imperative of Revolt
two scant months ago
then took to the streets
to oppose and depose
a twisted fascist virtuoso
for two whole hours
we hundreds owned the streets
we marched down Rosalind
Central and Orange Avenue
as protest slogans rang angelic
we raised hell and found heaven
in liberty equality and solidarity
but then the pigs closed in
cordoned to Lake Eola
to scream acquiescent rhetoric
at the fish sleeping
blissful in their innocence
beneath the jet black surface
a half-dozen cops in riot gear
astride horses loomed
ominous before us
backlit by the headlights
of the aggravated motorists
our march had forestalled
as the people abandoned the streets
we’d won so easily
i felt my chest wilt beneath
the weight of forsaken opportunity
my eyes scanned the remaining crowd
four stood strong
rooted to the concrete
by the world's weight
anchored by conviction
an anarchist professor
an independent journalist
a climate change activist
and a freshman college student
i heard the professor whisper to his student
i heard him say she'd put herself in harm’s way
that they'd lost the day when the marchers
turned their backs and walked away
but she didn’t flinch or move an inch
she stood silent and vigilant
shoulder-to-shoulder
chin held almost as high
as her Nazi-smashing protest sign
and her matching middle finger
and in that moment
i could’ve died
smiling
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
The
***tilt of my seesaw
is decidedly downward facing dog:
and there’s no rush to judgment,
for the powers that be,
be delighted by slow-walking,
making the waiting
max-tortuous,
but am of an age when everything,
even the long buried sins and unkept promises, poke and **** nonstop,
and the formulae once relied upon
to ease incipient self-deception,
to temporize and salve the consternations
of unkempt aggravated remorse failures,
as aged misdemeanors be matured felonies,
I blurt and declare guilt to all, alas,
and yet,
always an
and yet
in the ultimate crushing of
tardiness, knotted by an indignity of silence,
no one is desirous
of taking my***
confession
5:10pm
Thu Jan 28
2023
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 3:41 PM UTC
Walking, always walking,
Puzzled youth being funneled like cattle,
Seek shelter from the sun,
Jeer and poke at each other,
All from the safety of their cell phones.
Constantly seeking that one undesired retention
Of jukebox explosion catapults.
Thrusting us deeper into the mind/brain paradox
What is this?
What are these strange mutterings in the dark?
Babysitting wasp nests by electro shock railroads,
Disgust in the face of the many.
Where is this golden eclipse we’re all waiting for?
How can I not see the spiders on my windowsill?
Are these anguished, infantile youth truly desired?
Aggravated Neanderthal men
Try to impress pulsating goddesses of Light,
All to no prevail.
Sickening feeling in the gut,
Why aren’t you here?
Well I suppose,
Things have changed.
The Empress of the tunnel
Seeks out the empire halls
Of the tunnel-bound angst,
Musicians in the hall strumming
There thoughtless musings,
While the the debutantes watch and listen.
The intensity is unbearable to them,
They must seek shelter in their ipods.
Milk, must have it.
Watching them creep through the cafe,
May they one day find what they’re seeking.
Where are they?
Sitting here by myself,
Look at them jeering at each other
In their own jargons.
Have they seeked out the pleasure of life?
Dream-like meditations,
Well-rounded views of life,
Happiness within.
Dumbly smile at each other,
Seeking closeness,
Mind/body consciousness
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 1:05 PM UTC
cast out
chucked away
deep-sixed
discarded
discharged
disposed of
expelled
flung aside
thrown down
jettisoned
deserted
jilted
vacated
left in abdication
aggravated
outcast
rejected
eliminated
forgotten
given up
godforsaken
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 11:02 AM UTC
tickling tape worms living in ape arms
squiggly shapes getting fat like grapes and
traveling in veins like a gutter swallows rain
like an utter in pain painting pitchers so milky white
tight like an overstuffed mite
bee or egg infested
ceiling unappealing
but
crack is revealing my
inner thoughts
statutory holocaust
saturated oil spots
aggravated foil plots
plotting for a battle
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
The ******** in making,
Enjoy the pleasures of faking.
My thoughts still fleeting,
Sheared off yet bleating.
The rake inside me awakened,
Morals yet again threatened.
The devil's awake agile and ready,
Conscience breached and unsteady.
My head remains heavy and pensive,
A ******* yet again shall live.
Ransacked of all what I had,
Forlorn with thoughts, sad.
Leaves me hollow inside and out,
Void inside wishes to scream and shout.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
lovely, these pages I sew
for sadness I know not to tamper with like a joke -
a sick joke that people find amusing.
I do not find that kind of joke, or you to be amusing.
I clasp my hands tightly together, interlocking knuckles
and sit very still while the company is antsy to inspect
me for any weakness.
(I am always assuming everyone is out to judge me so rashly)
I am straining my back and the very moment I slouch,
I will fall into the pit of self-irritability,
yelling at myself because my bones persist on frangibility.
God! am I ever good enough?!
(I am always judging myself so rashly)
I want to buy myself a cottage near a swamp, hoarding
the repugnant slime near my fireplace cozied up reading a book.
you may trespass; I am willing to share this (hell) with you
if you wish to get so close to me.
I do though, (at my best) suffice
lingering around buying myself something nice (you could put it)
when I'm aggravated, I tend not to listen
not even to my own advice.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC
hate, like flames in someone's eyes,
anger which makes you want to hurt,
vexation provoked by fury,
and fury held inside.
The state of being annoyed,
displeasure arouse by grievance,
a taste of bitterness caused by outrage,
and outrage internally kept.
maddening violence
aggravated by exasperation,
indignation evoked by irritation
and irritation born privately.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 6:54 AM UTC
It seems as if
I have no time
for time.
I do not make enough time
to read all the books I have bought or
learn something genuinely new on guitar.
my short efforts on learning the ukelele
violin and piano have failed.
Not enough time to study and understand
philosophy, or read
over history
Not enough time to dedicate to both school and art,
Not enough ardency for my job.
I have fallen into mediocrity
I resent it. I resent it so.
My album that I am recording is not good enough.
My reading habits are almost nonexistent
My photos are starting to look the same
I used to be above the rest but
they have caught up and are now excelling pass me.
Where am I then?
Am I just the typical hipster philosopher musician
Who’s greatest work will only be seen through
the narrow window of a tumblr poem?
And oh look, another aggravated, angsty poem
on tumblr, how special.
Frankly, I do not know how to balance it all.
And deep down I know even if I found a way,
I might cease to care.
And however many years from now, even if
my album is on the top charts
I have read dozens of books
And learned and experienced so much
I think I will always believe
That I do not know, or do
enough.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
It is not unusual that at some point in our lives we will have to deal with a tense encounter where words will be exchanged in an environment of anger with others. Usually there is one person who is in less control of himself and poses a greater risk to harm the other. How do you defuse the situation? How do you calm someone who is angry? First, talk with a low calm voice. Secondly, show them your white teeth (smile), if possible. And don't look them directly in the face. These three suggestions are predicated on the fact that they are all non-engaging and have a tendency to calm or reduce tension from the aggravated party.
It all starts by using the wrong words, or the right words interpreted the wrong way by the offended party. This escalates potentially becoming a provocation by someone who is incensed or upset over a matter. Angry words then usually follow. Depending on how you handle things, will determine whether you succeed to defuse the situation or not. And sometimes, just sometimes, friendship regains that upper hand. This is the best case scenario which everyone could only want.
I tried to capture all this with a short Haiku that now follows:
**a word, provoking
angry words are now exchanged
smiles come, peace remains**
As an interesting afterthought, a person once shared with me his unusual approach he himself uses to avoid getting angry. He told me whenever he feels that he is about to get angry he forces himself to laugh uncontrollably and loud that his anger not "take control of Him." He said it works. I am fortunately happy to tell you have never had a chance to test his system out.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Up , in a long wavy personality .
Waking the morning with my commitment to it's day .
Way too slight to storm the day .
Open the door to a gray cloudy breeze .
Slip out with ease onto the concrete leaf .
A page out of my very own book .
Liking the very way the ink bleed ;
Write off the tip, a pen that would rip right through another's book.
Soft to the touch, you fell cause you might slip right through .
Although the heart felt tipped utensil causes you to breathe .
With all the wind in my atmosphere, a tornado caused .
You to turn and run .
Opens my hidden twists, up with a given gist .
Like an autumn oak tree, letting go isn't so uncommon .
But still a shipped away surprise, .
So many unforgiving goodbyes .
A tear without anyone to give it a cry / /
Such a subtle generosity, so much so .
You might forget all beauty ever existed .
Me and memories go together,
like mine was an aggravated death .
Worth killing to a Saint ,
And none of the happiness was great .
Out of the blue, and only for another shade of green .
Jealous and out of the way,
So they faded navigated away.
Orange and ravenous red .
Foundation for success,
Paved a walk way for a street walker like hiss..
Step away and porcelain eyes .
Pierce once again .
Follow the haze with outa braze .
No touch, glass chimes.
Together once , noise of fine dining .
Couples and territorial squint .
Soothing child , for a partner for life.
Love for the second child in the other .
Like a bad photo shop .
No edit, just chop , black dot .
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
So every morning my dad fixes coffee and I drink some.
I sit at my desk,
Catching up with everything that I missed over the night.
I pick up my coffee cup,
When it gets above my upper thigh,
I have no idea what I did...
But I spilled a few drops on my lucky Thumper pajama pants.
"Dang it..."
I take a sip..
Then set the cup back down
On the cup's way to my desk..
I spill some coffee on my right foot..
"Grrr..."
I set the coffee cup down a little harder...
And it goes over on my mouse-pad.
I glare at the cup..
This cup has always been nice to me,
I don't know why it isn't now.
So about five minutes later I pick the cup back up again
And once again once it is over my thigh,
Coffee spills over in the same spot.
I take a sip, set the cup down, and look at my pants..
"My Thumper pants are going to have a coffee stain on it."
Still aggravated with my coffee and my cup,
I pick it back up again...
While the cup is in my hand is take a different route to my mouth..
It's almost to my mouth when it drops some more coffee on my pants and pajama shirt...
So here I am in my school clothes,
With left over coffee in the cup..
Afraid to drink it.
I take a sip and I don't spill anything...
I have come to this conclusion:
The coffee and the cup hated my Thumper pants and my tank top.
That was my morning, this morning.
Mar 26, 2011
Mar 26, 2011 at 7:31 PM UTC
Enclosed
In the cottage
If this
Writer’s Blockage
Lasts
For too long
How lost
Would I be
The reason
For being
Alone this season
Was to grow
My talents
Like an Eagle’s talons
And claw through
The surface
For the purpose
Of providing
A service
That
Serves vice
The plate of truth
Unknowing to those
Who don’t know
Right
From wrong
Produced as a song
Bereft of a beat
Unleft alone
The agitation
Becomes aggravated assault
As I rip the pages
Out the book
To my own fault
I locked the lessons
I was to learn
In a vault
Which doesn’t collapsed
Under the pressure
But becomes stronger
Time lapses
As my mind run laps
And replays the days
When control
Was in tact
Now I let loose
And dug myself
Further in the hole
Any further
Sleep’s cousin
Will become us
Me
And my goals
Lie dead in the same bed
All because
I was too proud
To beg
Myself for forgiveness
Of putting me in this prison
Away from society
With plans
To raise propriety
But how
Can one learn
To better himself
When he’s alone
With no teacher
But himself
So selfish of me
To leave
The fate of the world
In my hands
Too stubborn
To share
My final air
With theirs
Jan 12, 2011
Jan 12, 2011 at 3:28 AM UTC
Beaten-in-dirt-roads led us to
a foggy marsh you called the place to be.
Our heads kept still as we watched
eggs hatch beneath the algae.
Our bodies swaying like the limbs
of a willow we almost forgot about.
Preoccupied with catching tadpoles,
we never noticed temptation
creeping up behind tomorrow.
Aggravated, he whispered:
I'm waiting.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
Looking for inspiration
In a desolate dreary wasteland
The same **** just different days spent
Hoping life will finally make sense
Cos I've got bored and aggravated
With the drama I know will unfold
Is this really the end of the road before me I behold?
So I form facts from fiction
To try avoid repetition
Of dreary events to which each week ends
But my yesterdays tomorrow
You know so my yesterday will follow today
A bit like Bill Murray
From that film Groundhog Day
But with a lot less adventure
Or comedic reflection
A script not to question
And no seams between scenes
I'm caught in a dream
I can't see me come free from
Those are the facts son
There's no lights camera action
No glitz and no glamour
Definitely no famous actor
With the hardest tasks keeping track of...
Straight from morning to night
In the flash of an eye
The same simple ending
A yawn then a sigh
Only to wake with a shudder
Butterflies inside flutter
Feeling nothing but gutted
No new day
No new dollar
It's the same as before
As I walk out the door
The same route to work
To live out another day stuck
in my white collar Call Centre curse
Apr 16, 2022
Apr 16, 2022 at 5:22 AM UTC
1
There are more penetrating people if not the death of, as in living in this very livid moment of the unsure which is a surety.
Falsify me. Growing heavy with the absurd. To face you, me -- more mirror the blank end of a chamber, or if that you must **** me, do it at the plaza in front of my mother. That if you must lament me over the lapped up moment of some false life the invented and wrong, do it. Do it. ****** me the unassailable truth that is, I am capable to splinter this moment and that it still lives like a sprawled body spilled from the mouth in the bathroom -- it still lives: you have to be quick.
2
Once have you been startled by the form of absence as a letter slid underneath the soft and warm pocket of your mouth like it was the first time to have a naked body pointed at you, all with it trying to predict you in a sterile room, and is more shattering than an aggravated twilight.
Who, at first thought, was there behind the trigger, and was ***** drunk with any other pretense apart from the face that ***** hates that common meeting within the day’s fine-tuned crosshair?
3
If you listen to it carefully, the music is a mosaic shifting the hypothesis into a pallor of a question back to it again with its basic agony of becoming so bent and so small on paper – which is to say, that we are, if to listen to a droning sound, becoming of it delving deep into the center, checking our own weight like our name after a fall from a high place, they said they would.
4
I have left something in Baguio that I cannot take back – a monochromatic caricature of my face shoved into a crevice waiting for a revision. What have I furthered into?
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
I do not mourn long Mondays--
Wednesday is gone before I
blink back an astonished Tuesday, and
at twenty-four already
I see my mothers hands sliding
across the page
That same scrawl following tip
of the exigent pen
Nervous mind idly stroking
bitter torments
That which is aggravated swells
inflamed. Like a
canker sore deep in
the inner cheek
The tongue rolling and probing,
absorbed by each sour pain
Carefully plotting little volcanoes across
the slick terrain
They burst like purple pomegranates
pounding spattered cement
on mild fall evenings
So do people sometimes
Through tectonics of the brain
Those which could be minor psychological
blemishes roar to life. Shifting
vast emotional plates
behind a cool gaze
People hurl carelessness at on another
like schoolyard boys
chucking helpless frogs at
jagged stone walls
Ignorant of life's high price
And though horrified-- I
Can not look away.
Eyes bulging, blown out anuses spewing
pale intestines slick with blood-- I
can not look away.
Each giddy chimp, feces
Proudly flung-- I
do not look away.
My heart swollen hungering for
that emptiness called humanity
Mostly pretense, mostly solitude, mostly cruelty,
All personal gain!
Meanwhile, brothers and sisters,
have you considered the fate
of your everlasting soul?
I didn't think so
Glassy eyes stare
beseeching from bathroom mirrors
Tear-stained cheeks belie
a quizzical half-smile
I will meet that insecure gaze
promising to seek my own perfect
imperfection
No longer guilt ridden and ashamed
I will hold the reflected stare aloft
with my own true eyes
and I swear-- I
will not look away
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC