"annex" poems
Jade sauna
just over body temperature
to increase metabolism
smooth blood flow
and sweat out toxins
my hair is up
there are no lines on my pale smooth face
I'm happy and peaceful
I look so serene
and so skinny
"'scuse me you speak Russian?"
it's one of the cute foreigners
I've had my eye on
flirtations ensued
and it was nice
to be looked at
with fascination
with cute wonder
getting complimented
through broken english
as he ran his hands through his hair
smiling abashedly
trying to make sense of my words
as I did the same for his--
we were up all night talking
"no halloween in Russia,
but if had, you be Queen"
he knew nothing of me
just this peaceful calm side
that smiled and giggled
and carried a conversation
like a feather on the wind
he saw a girl he could smile at
and say
"you are very beautiful"
"you have lovely smile"
I'll never see him again in my life
but what a wonderful memory to have of someone
nothing but kind words
and laughter
and peace
serenity
a few of the things
I treasure most,
yes,
what a lovely memory
of Annex the smiling Russian boy
who drank tea with me
at the Jeju Spa
until the sun rose
and the lights came back on.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
Dedicated to John and Bob
From first flesh we move down widening halls
That lead to lives of wondrous walls.
Our spidered fingers gripped walls of brick,
Cruets, cups and candle sticks.
Incense clouded open graves
When we too believed we too were saved.
Between Annex walls we learned our phonics,
On tin-roofed walls we lived our comics.
Garage walls scaled showed different views,
Kitchen walls steamed with soups and stews.
Our school yard walls tallied pitches
That marked our summers of youth and wishes.
Now lift memory's pane and go back
To the white-framed walls of a secret shack.
There, in confusion we would cling
To the unknown wonders girls would bring.
These young boys' walls we both outgrew;
Now new walls sprang, as we did too.
Coffee House walls offered something new.
Wet kisses lingered near shadowy walls,
We heard poetry read in a backroom stall.
Recreationals made our new skin crawl.
Cliff walls were breached by stairs of clay,
Carved by Incas on a turquoise day.
Tent walls echoed with impish fray,
Green walls beckoned at the end of day.
These walls gave rise to hot desires,
Like Vikings planning funeral pyres.
New music, cheers and weekend guests
Stood us ***** to pound our chests.
Those walls no longer ring our shores;
Time swept us forward with worldly lures.
We doffed our coats of suede and frills,
And donned new clothes and workday skills.
The walls of work are a rocky climb,
Stones laid by us, for yours and mine.
Such towers & turrets of heart & hearth
Guard all we know of any worth.
I see distant walls on cliffs, in fields;
Where do they lead? What will they yield?
Yet, there three friends climb one more hill,
Climb one more wall. Then all is still.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
Glass divides
where the heart does not,
come inside,
sit beside me
in annex to this fledgling love,
spurn the sun,
in lieu of its warmth,
for the charm of
an intimate hideaway,
sweet somethings
I shall whisper into your ear,
until inner vibrations
have reached your core,
the view from here
speaks of gardens,
fountains, and holy ground,
I give them all to you
as trousseau,
so long as you agree
to dwell with me,
within a niche
of the imperishable lustre,
togetherness.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 12:50 PM UTC
Prerogative presumptive judicature, cantankerous cantilever capacity. Paradoxical dichotomy greaves, gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts, asymmetrical symmetry. Objectified manifest's dimensional delineation, intrinsic endemic innate opaque opulence. Protractive analyses accidence ambience acoustics. Spatiotemporal telemetry tactician's trajectory extant.
Prophylaxis protocol annex annul. Kinesiology kleptomaniac extraversion embezzlement euthanasia extortion, embark embargo extradition. Aura roan's rainbow mare's nimbus nimiety exorcism. Corporeally preternatural's existential exigence exodus. Cerebral cortex's ****** matrix's carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma, apex axis crux, exponentially extemporaneous manumission. Categorical imperative hubris, hectic duty deontological probity.
Astral projection's clairaudience clairvoyance. Tenets and principles, maxims and axioms, and doctrinal mandates. Exserted protuberance's edifice ******** Exotically ****** ethereally sublime xylem Xanadu sails. Erotica erectile errantry.
Fulham nuance ***** Formidable foundry of a foyer fracas. Harpy harsh hast, atrium attrition seditious. Oak tree ****** nails swarthy ******** swath swizzles and unicorn railway sails. Anchor pin tachometer troll wood harlotry's root clod rudiments, lightning bow hat pick. Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist. Transpicuous translucence alluvium aloof impunity.
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC
aix, beck's, becks, blech's, checks, cheques, czechs, dec's, decks, dex, eckes, eques, ex, fecks, flecks, flex, heck's, hex, jex, kecks, lecce, lex, meckes, mex, necks, nex, next, peck's, pecks, plex, rex, sheck's, shek's, specks, specs, sphex, tech's, techs, teck's, tex, treks, vex, whelks, wrecks, x, x. amex, ampex, annex, apec's, apex, armtek's, avtex, aztecs, berlex, caltex, cemex, centex, cmx, comex, complex, comtrex, convex, crownx, defex, dissects, duplex, effects, ejects, entex, execs, expects, eyetech's, fanech's, fedex, finex, gatx, gtech's, inmex, intex, latex, memtec's, metex, natec's, nobec's, nymex, nynex, objects, onex, opec's, paychecks, paychex, pemex, perplex, pewex, playtex, portec's, projects, qintex, quebec's, railtex, rednecks, reflects, rejects, respects, roughnecks, scitex, simplex, starplex, steinbeck's, subjects, suspects, syntex, telex, telmex, tenrecs, timeplex, tridex, trintex, triplex, truex, vertex, visx, wall-tex, wedtech's, westtech's adaptec's, ametek's, atx, banamex, between decks, biotechs, bottlenecks, cineplex, cybersex, cytotechs, datarex, discotheques, equitex, eurochecks, gendrisek's, genentech's, govpx, hyponex, intellects, intersects, kaisertech's, malcolm x, medarex, mediplex, megaplex, memorex, methanex, metroplex, middlesex, multidex, multiplex, neorx, oraflex, pillowtex, prentnieks, rolodex, stratoflex, superx, symantec's, teleflex, turtlenecks, unisex, ventritex adaptaplex, ameritech's, audiotex, begonia rex, ****** simplex, solar apex, videotex, tyrannosaurus rex, regression of y on x
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
*I met X when we had ***
I met X when I get flex,
I met X when she like it on pharynx,
I met X when she knows how to vortex,
I met X when everything was fixed.
And that's how I met my Complex X
when all X comes from annex X.*
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
I saw Stewart and Maud under a locust tree in Kensington market.
They had new bicycles. She leaned her sweaty, curly head on his bicep.
They had baguettes, flowers, asparagus and apples from the farm booths in their packs,
Buzet and Minervois from the liquor store, library books. They had life-loving things.
He says that for him this new life is instead of being an artist in Paris:
Backpacks, bicycles, the look of young lovers. The little possessions
That don't feel like a car or a house. They are wearing bright white t shirts
And denim overalls. His children are confused. They have little money.
He joined the many who have refused to be punished for a mistake.
My friend Stewart lives with a university student.
You get to their Annex apartment up iron stairs bolted to the
Outside of a building of old brick coloured like a driftwood campfire. The bed's iron.
She's been an adult for seven years. Iron, bricks, flowers, white iron bed,
Stewart has the skills to make it good, he's done this before, made the Muskoka
Chairs, the harvest tables, and sold them, repaired window frames and doors,
Advertised in supermarkets. He likes to breathe, to drink water, to cut wood and dress it,
To study, to read, to live well with a woman, to write in the evening, to make life like art.
Paul Anthony Hutchinson
www.paulanthonyhutchinson.com
copyright Paul Anthony Hutchinson
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
They call you "woman"
Though you probably are just shy
You are only about fourteen
When a nation is sewn into your womb
The white men, they will call you exotic
Call your brothers savages
As they pin you to a tree
And colonize the nest below your belly
They will imperialize your body
Annex your ******
Because they can
They are above you, after all
Yet you are still looking ahead
So eloquent while under attack
Why is **** suddenly beautiful
When it is a weapon of war?
Why do we normalize
The abuse of women with brown skin?
Not pain, just literature
So darling, I am so sorry
For what my brothers, for what my ancestors
Did to you
I am so sorry that the war on your body
Is why I am standing on your homeland
Though the skin of my relatives was not on American soil
Until two hundred years later
My blood was never shed on that dirt
Anyone who came here after you
Has hands covered in red
Flash forward three hundred years
These white men whose forefathers
Made a throne for their heirs inside of you
Are accusing other brown-skinned people
Of being terrorists
Of being rapists
Did we really forget that quickly?
They will wage war for my body
Because it lacks pigment
But they will ignore
That they are the ones committing the crime.
Every time a brown person is deported
Every time we vote for someone
Who spews bile when they speak
Every time we accuse immigrants
Of advancing our **** problem
We are slicing your children from your insides
Marvelous woman
Each nation you birthed is under attack
Every time we attack another nation
Our hands are covered in red.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
~
*Bring your whirlwinds with you;
in the snow angel summer
bring Margot the sun.
In the hour of red glare
a rush to pick slowberries
before getting caught up in the silk.
Prisms, mirrors, lenses!
strategies for combatting visibility:
keep your eyes closed,
face away from the window.
The myriad threads of people in hiding,
they eat their own web each day,
and yet something always shines
in the heart's secret annex.
Men and women are
separated from each other,
the girls are on a train
to the Bergen-Belsen,
"white founts falling
in the courts of the sun."
Margot now cries quietly;
so silently she weeps over
sunshine and hate.*
~
Jan 4, 2024
Jan 4, 2024 at 3:41 PM UTC
I arrived at your house this morning, and snuck through the front door.
You father didn't hear and your mother didn't see.
The steep stairs creaked as we followed our quick-moving feet.
In secret nooks that look like your mind, we whispered secrets that could have changed the world;
Your mind is brighter than the dim fluorescent lights.
It makes me feel more human to hear what your heart and mind have agreed upon.
Mostly the world needs more compassion, to allow people to be more than what they're labeled.
You may be a Jew, but you're also a human.
I may be a man, but I'm also a human.
Every human has this in common.
When I saw your room, I lost the fight with my tears.
Your ambition and hope suffered for years.
And so, Anne Frank, I will remember you.
Humans are more than strangers, and freedom is more than living.
I won't take either for granted.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 7:02 AM UTC
Vicinit vicinit the gamut go round
Progenies excogitate faster
Ode to no eminent thing
We all morph into matter.
The atramentous inky and blackest dense;
sprints and weaves in and out.
Tenuring twains over head, under toe;
Absconding ways in which we've never known
A paramounted heretic defeat.
Darkness that foliole footprints sooted deep;
Seeping stenches of fowl un-scented reminiscent in attire of the welkin;
Vastly sly making a skullduggery indent.
CR2X let us pseudonym by hex.
"No nomen no nomen for I matter dark"
"Matronymic nix hold's my fine lark"
"Nongermane logics are behind you and left"
"I am not your scientific pet"
Not a test, nix preliminaries"
Matter of all is of all existing quarries"
Spoken gallant and wise
Need not ever a compromise
"Matter dark matter dark it is you we embark!"
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 2:18 PM UTC
I am a hexagon
with a tail
glowing
when you inhale
down the trachea
I go
teasing
my trail
quid pro quo
I split in two
and enter into two
pleura-covered chambers
and this is where
I might cause
unpleasant dangers.
I dissolve
on the membrane
of vitality
and tickle
the red cells
providing warmth
to reality
I leave red puddles
in a white desert
and I make kin care
with grueling effort
The core pumps
scarlet liquid
through upper
and lower
sections
It splits me
carries me
in all
different
directions
I end up
in the cortex
I alter
gray matter
I fumble
with your strings
I am the annex
of your receptors
I am a helpful
benefactor
I control
your flow
of information
your hunger
and your memory
in return
you are
worry-free
I make you happy
to be
I am THC.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
this dream has no other dream
it lingers in the fair Between
and seldom in the inkling think the slightest thing
less interesting
than an overture, an ode to Odin
or a stillborn child's
twitch.
in a box of halos you will find petroglyphs in the hollow of bright yellow sugar-cube skulls with red dots
you will spread the virus. or hire lemmings to do your bidding in your war
on angels with too many arms. on those little plastic shakers, with the little holes: filled with glitter.
your annex of Poland, last june, and your Easter revolution... i could go on. no less bitter.
but many harms have visited your dullard nova
you could spit in god's hand
and fix your cowlick with your reflection.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
People tell me
I came pretty close to dying
Now I just sit and think about why I'm
alive anyway
I can't think of a thing to do during the day
but then again maybe I'm not trying
I've been seeing time as
A strange, madras garment
Memories, strewn together in a sloppy, random, make-shift way
At their most detailed
They are incidents given a slot on the
nightly news
But we can never be there again
whether we are the ones falling from the burning building,
being interviewed about it
or glued to the couch watching
Everything, just snippets on the cutting- room floor,
Melting frost on a window
"I love you" written in the middle
Something overheard in a smokers' annex
A person you bump into on the L
That sweater you had to have but lost at the 92nd Street Y
A flash in a pan
A view from the top
Our lives are abridged versions of some greater path, that only those who walk truly upright are unlucky enough to perceive
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 3:50 AM UTC
Hiding. . . If they knew who i really was. . .
i'm not the person to socialize.
i don't like to be in all the buzz!
i hide. . . If only someone'd realize. . .
What if i'm not good enough?
No one knows who i could really be!
Ugh! Alone in the annex, life can be so rough!
i'm not always hiding in the annex. . .
But i AM stuck, stuck just as ignorant as society!
Joined together, our stubborn, narrow minds a reflex.
Wow, what, with an open mind, we'd find a new sobriety.
Clear, unbiased thoughts lead to an agreeable world. . .
That, free from this Annex, ALL could, and WOULD, be accepted.
But because Annex after Annex keeps the world from as it should,
We lock ourselves in, others becoming rejected.
With a closed mind, the doors to each Annex are closed. . .
With a wide mind, the doors, too shall then by wide. . .
So maybe. . . maybe i will step out of my haven.,
However dangerous that may be . . .
Because change be on my heard laden,
That it may not only be just me. . .
Stuck in the Annex.
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 11:23 AM UTC
this dream has no other dream
it lingers in the fair Between
and seldom in the inkling think the slightest thing
less interesting
than an overture, an ode to Odin
or a stillborn child's
twitch.
in a box of halos you will find petroglyphs in the hollow of bright yellow sugar-cube skulls with red dots
you will spread the virus. or hire lemmings to do your bidding in your war
on angels with too many arms. on those little plastic shakers, with the little holes: filled with glitter.
your annex of Poland, last june, and your Easter revolution... i could go on. no less bitter.
but many harms have visited your dullard nova
you could spit in god's hand
and fix your cowlick with your reflection.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
His Father Was the Ambassador to Spain
But he never saw his Own Sons Pain
He came to a spiritual retreat.....
With his Darkness to defeat
His anxiety Cut like a Knife
With no Solace in his life
He prayed over scripture Daily
But the Battles he was Failing
On a Dark Saturday Night
With a Dull serrated Knife
He took his Life, he kept
Slicing till it was Done
The knife to dull to do it in One
In the Kitchen of the Annex he was found
Lieing Still cold and face down on the ground
They rushed him to North Charles Hospital
Though Doctors battled it was Fatal
I walked in the Annex Door.....
And found Ruth tears streaming
Kneeling as she mopped up the Floor
The flood of Blood Red
Was all that's left of the dead
I carried this memory for 45 years
And still today the memory brings me tears
With all the Ambassadors Rich Connections
Nothing can replace the Loss of a Son
As witness to this, I felt I must Pen
So one small soul isn't forgot in the end
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
being insulted by someone
of a trans-
status quo
classification
will never be enough
to mind, had i the pairing
to a higher tier of socialite endeavour -
to be debased with a fragrance of
a misuse of language
on a level of comprehension will
always place me steadied with placards
of 'hello, my name is Samauel'
well hello Samuel..
boiled herrings pan-fried readied for
a star wars sequel akin to rocky 7,
boxing-catchup K.O. no.31 -
an here the champ gives way to a chimpanzees'
worth of gurgled laughter -
readied speed at a Bronson's uppercut -
and we're too the readied ones
annex to the molars that might be considered
the chewing apparatus should
we not have juiced with bites as if a load's
worth of hammering was taken place:
chewing as if hammering, imagine
the cranium gush extract - it would be
like porridge if reverse due to diarrhoea!
flaky shit-bits and anaconda's suntan to measure up to;
well, there was the leather chair to mind
in terms of approving leisure activity as coercing
a carefree fortitude of futuristic investment -
mind you the loss of the Celtic vocabulary,
I.R.A. and the instigation of Anglo-Saxon
vocabulary to suppress the populace
of renegade Catholics or the twin Belfast known
as Glasgow - indeed Edinburgh remained
as much conservative as St. Andrew's would allow,
an extension of England, even with parliament
it was a Basildon of northern Essex...
scots among the multitude of accents usurped from
pole-dancing with kilts! Tartan su doku!
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
Sometimes I imagine myself
strolling through a museum
of my love life.
My soles click on the cold stone
and it reverberates
through the grand halls.
My relationships are there.
Stuffed to mimic real life,
and safely behind glass.
The idea is that I can study them.
Learn from them
in a detached kind of way.
But I never do.
I stroll, and I pause, and I admire,
but I never learn.
We're breaking ground
on a new annex
next month.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
Oh, cynic-
All those years of abridging the files left for you-
And whittling away at your own tusks-
To annex wild nerve and stove-top instinctivity-
Extemporising on an instrument that you actually did invent-
And then using it to pry open the kitchen window-
Asking the neighbor for a sword of keratin straight to the belt-
“It would show that I am, literally, made of (fitfully) lifeless halves.”
Anyway-
There’s that old-dresser where you stored plans of-
Delineating a white-white city for you to call home-
and then instructions to call it anesthetized due to it’s lack of horses-
Destroy it and all matter within a one-hundred mile radius of your current location.
I’m aware the end-product has cradled you since the first day you were alive-
but, it doesn’t anymore-
I do-
and I will not let my arms grow soar without affording them your recognition.
Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 4:19 AM UTC
It was June 6, 2015
This was a bus trip that convened
As I go along, you will see what I mean
It was the Metropolitan New York Bus Association Event
From New York City to Pennsylvania we went
We stopped in Lebanon, PA for a bus pulse stop
Timing couldn’t have been just right as seeing the buses kept our hearts functioning tops
Later, it was journey on to the Museum of Bus Transportation and the Spring Fling
However being a bus enthusiast was a good thing
There were all kinds of bus models for sure
Yet, there was plenty to explore
Viewed the Silver Eagle Continental Trailways, Golden Eagle also of Continental trailways, MC6 Motorhome Supercruiser and much more
Let the exploration go on
After that, we moved to the Annex, which was a drive away
There was a lot with more buses to see
There was the MC8 Peter Pan bus, MC9 Bonanza Bus Lines and who could forget a Capitol Trailways Buick car that travelled from Pottsville, Pinegrove and Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
Before buses hit the road, they started as a car in buses begin
Things started to change from when
Yet stagecoaches were put to an end
The only thing about that, your **** got sore and the pain you just couldn’t ignore
Being a bus nut s we hobbyist are called
We are the bus industry preservationist, and the buses we stand for all
Now I added 2 new buses to my large vast models collection
Buses are more than just over the road, they captured my heart in their behold
This is my own personal vibe being never told
I am being honest and bold
Buses have been my passion since the years of my birth
They will remain with me until my death on this Earth
Bus models have changed over the years
This is why I still preserver
Buses from past have become my memory that shall last
Museum’s capturing buses in still, but being determined has become my will.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
Father, son, and holy ghost
Galaxies out there are also down here
Where fire and brimstone meet the ocean
Rocking rolling dancing purge
Sacred cleansing primal urge
And as we lose an angle breaks
We stand alone and here we start
Connect the signal brain and heart
The closest and most far apart
Keep going till you reach the edge
Find a way to bridge the gap
Shift the hourglass
And pray for wings
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
What a way to spend October 11, all in one day?
There are many enterprising words that I could say
It was the 14th Annual Mass Transit & Trolley Modeler’s Convention in New Brunswick, New Jersey
It was held at RUTGERS UNIVERSITY Gymnasium Annex
All attendee’s wore badgers and stepped back into time
Trains, busses and trolley’s all had their preservation combined
A look at steam engines who was the workhorse of the rails
Come and follow me as I explain in more detail
Transit and highway buses the vintage of their trail
Towns with trolley’s, a matter of tracks and wires
A world from the past with tomorrow that’s here today with plenty of technology advances that inspires
A trip down memory lane in years before my years
Yet the honor of preservation to continue my passion for buses in preserver
Then there were highway buses I once rode
Purchased a scale model MC7 Challenger of Vermont Transit, and added to my personal collection of look and behold
A day well spend indeed
The story goes on in proceed
I really didn’t know where time went
This was my exploration being support
You could say, “My determined will”
It was my ambition running on still
Yet it was a worthwhile experience
But it was a lot of walking and you had to have endurance
I learned even more mass transit and buses
This places me like an Ever Ready battery to influence
Also with that knowledge, I learned about the back roads and rails no longer exist
This was a thought I couldn’t resist
The mass transit flow and time is moving with systems go.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC
If you take away our literature, you take away our sight.
We become the blinded king of nowhere.
When we look out on the world beyond the valley of ashes,
we will conceal our eyes and
forget that you don’t need a pair of glass slippers to be Cinderella.
We will forget that we need need to be home by midnight,
because after midnight it’s so dark
that you might go out hunting and mistake a mockingbird for a crow,
or a crow for a raven.
When we try to use our words, words, words, they will cut out our tongues
and force us to play a game that leaves us more hungry than satisfied.
This is because instead of pure knowledge, we are being spoon fed a corrupted education,
and we will no longer eat alphabet soup without our big brother standing over our shoulder preaching to us about the glorious future that will be 1984,
and we will all be forced to live in that cowardly, old world.
And there they will lead us like lambs to the slaughter.
Where if they see the spark of curiosity
they will try to wash it out like the ****** spot they see it to be.
We will forget why the caged bird sings
and why the baby’s gravestone only said Beloved.
They will paint an A on our chest which will stand for absent,
as in absent from the conversation because
we are not able to comprehend what they are saying.
We will not find joy in the poetry written on baseball glove
because we will not know how to read it,
and we will never be the catcher
because we will all be separate and and still not live in peace.
When we come to a fork in the road
we will take the path that everyone else has traveled on,
because we have not learned to stand on our own two feet.
Which means that we will never be able to find Alaska or
where the fault is in our stars.
We will not hear the stories of what happened to the handmaid,
and they will tell us if we are brave, kind, honest, intelligent, or selfless,
because you can only be one.
Our whole lives we will never have pride, but we will accept their prejudice.
We will hear the heartbeat in the floor boards and blame it on the wind.
When we find ourselves stranded we will reach for the conch and fight over it,
because we will all be stuck between a rock and a hard place,
and when the sirens of our society call to us with lies about what our future will be,
we will jump from the boat and swim towards our deaths.
because life without books is just as good as no life at all.
We will lay dying in coffins that our children build for us
as unspoken poets with our heads in the oven.
We will be condemned to make the past our future
and we will watch as they test what they can burn at 451 degrees.
And finally when we all sit down and accept the bibliocaust they have stoked,
we will forget the things our dear friends
Ellie and Anne warned us about what can happen in an annex or in the night.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC