"atonement" poems
You're all bark and no bite
How could something wrong feel so right
Wish we could've had just one night
But it wasn't in the cards
I'm alone here while you need space
Stuck between a rock and a hard place
It's the closest thing to any embrace
That I'll ever feel
Whether mountain or molehill
Tears are falling in my milk spill
I swallow down another hard pill
From my half empty glass
Vicarious atonement
Another happiness postponement
Damaged heart and stolen moments
Back to square one
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
This is for my generation.
A generation full of selfies, in short for selfish.
A generation of women murdering their own unborn babies.
Woman walk around half dressed hoping a man will grant them respect.
As they reclaim their lives, renaming it feminism at it's best.
This is for my generation.
A generation of men that rather play with their hands.
Rather than creating work out of their bare hands.
Lusting for women as if we were created for one night stands.
We are the millennials. We're full of worldly distractions.
Looking for our parents to be the lending tree.
Since we spend most of our money on ***** & ****
This is for my generation.
Can't you see we're slowly dying off? We are becoming too self involved.
While every pleasure keeps causing our own demise.
We're too stubborn to realize our ways are flawed.
We mask it and look for love in other people. Yet, we feel emptier when the love isn't reciprocated. Some call this "unrequited love".
This is for my generation.
I'm here to tell you that, you are loved, you are cherished, and you can be forgiven. You can be saved, not by your works or how much money you make.
If you only believe what He did for you on the cross.
The perfect blood Atonement.
We are the Godless generation. Most would say they believe in evolution, perhaps others would mention God.
This is for my generation.
See, Jesus didn't come for the religious people. In fact, he called them frauds. He's more than just a bunch of rules and laws. In reality, He only came to save the lost. Which lead him to be hated, beaten and killed on a cross. 3 days later, He rose from the dead something Allah never did.
Now that our King is risen, He's offering a free gift of salvation. That's why it's called Grace. Being coming Christian doesn't make you perfect, don't get it twisted. I'm just a forgiven sinner by His definition.
The choice is yours.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:43 AM UTC
Being present means I'm not mentally labeling
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's haven
Being present means I'm not feeling emotionally drained
Creating inner space and stillness, more and more gained
Being present means I'm not waiting to react
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's habitat
Being present means I'm not clinging to the past
Creating inner space and stillness, it is so vast
Being present means I'm not worrying about the future
Creating inner space and stillness, and this I will nurture
Being present means I'm not compulsive thinking
Creating inner space and stillness, to God I am linking
Being present means I'm not judging what others think, say or do
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's point of view
Being present means I'm not resisting what is
Creating inner space and stillness, a native of this
Being present means I'm not attached to any kind of form
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's norm
Being present means I'm alert and alive
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's high five
Being present means I have the time for you
Creating inner space and stillness, and wholeness too
Being present means I enjoy what I do
Creating inner space and stillness, consciously too
Being present means I am consciously speaking, doing and acting
Creating inner space and stillness, of which there is no lacking
Being present means I am aligned to my purpose
Creating inner space and stillness, alive and alertness
Being present means I am at peace
Creating inner space and stillness, and flowing with ease
Being present means I accept its isness
Creating inner space and stillness, that is growing within us
Being present means I know there is no more important moment
Creating inner space and stillness, and feeling atonement
Being present means I'm connecting to a depth within
Creating inner space and stillness, for all to live in
Being present means there's nowhere else I'd rather be
Creating inner space and stillness, and the power To Be
Plant your flower ........
Being present means
I know there's no more
Important moment
Than NOW
© Delores Wiltse 2008 Excerpt from:
A Door Is Opening/AuthorHouse.com
Fresh Spiritual Poetry via:
http://peacefromwithin.shawwebspace.ca/
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 6:35 AM UTC
Rivers flow
in volumes and refrains
the shadows of black phoebes
chasing waves
as they ripple
in quiet tones
a majestic scenery
tainted by involuntary lullabies
of atonement
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
Resisting your surrender
Like a passionate pretender
Cursing your existence
So unruly cant even believe it
Rehearsing until morning
For a ending to your story
Searching for a reason
Why you’re always out of season
Still wearing those ***** clothes
And swearing at the Her ghost
Living in your furry
Just makes things more blurry
Some drunken thrills
Followed by some healing pills
Staring at the mirror
Thinking it will look clearer
Resisting your departure
And what seems like constant torture
Insisting on the weather
To lead you somewhere farther
Counting on tomorrow
To release you from your sorrow
Leads you to forgiveness
Repenting all your sins and
Starting a new chapter
In this new world that you are after
Living in the moment
Gives you quick atonement
Walking from the ashes
The past and what it’s taken
Your soul now unbroken from this spell
That had you been under
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 8:26 PM UTC
Paul Johnson was a mad psychopath.
He had killed hundreds of women in his life all by himself.
He never used any tools to **** He barehandedly killed those women.
His ex-girlfriend was the reason why he killed.
She had ran away with his brother leaving him hurt so bad like crazy.
His ex-girlfriend was a beautiful blonde.
He chased them for years.
When he found them he brutally killed them.
He mutilated the poor girl into little slices.
He beheaded and castrated his brother.
Then he cast their remains into fire.
Ever since then he had never stopped killing.
His victims were always women aged between 25 and 30.
They're always blonde and blue-eyed.
He strangled them all with his hands before he buried them in his basement.
One day he mistakenly killed a brunette who was wearing a blonde wig and .
He was so startled that he stopped killing and soon after hanged himself
His mother was a beautiful brunette.
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 8:09 AM UTC
Tipping point reached, one final breath
Let the waves of inertia crash, contaminate
....
Alone in complexity, machinery, and everything
Perfectly formed human being
Slowly turning sour by the minute
Stale air, only growing in its bitter taste as
Seconds that feel like hours, add to feel like years
All the plans i made
All the plans i planned to make
Gone, but not forgotten
But then they were gone
Truer statement never read then
What i read on the back of the final bit found
Within my reach
Filtered through a layer of sediment
settled over my vision
Sanitized as life had been
But my shelter having been breached
To seep much longer...
Too accustomed, but it doesn't help
Found lacking in the company I had hoped to keep
A poor atonement, sinking further
Or, it kept rising
I was nearly covered.
.....
They stepped a little closer
And left appalled by what they found
Rotting in the dark, silently
Defensive at the outset, shaking at the sound
Sounding incomplete
Face down this
Eventual ending
For me
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
deaf and dumb
are the passers by,
the visitors as well
gladly would I fill their ears
with the wisdom of weary worries,
tedious torments, but I fry their meat,
smashing it until it screams
the sizzling symphony wafts to my bulb
stirring memories of the steer, the ****
the beatific butchering, and
the killing fields of my youth
while others see only my hunched back
and wait for their greasy grub
I ask why there is no atonement
no sorrowful song for the slaughter
of young ones in faraway lands
who fell under the “noble” knife
or
the bovine beasts whose skulls
were there for the bar, that dropped
with sublime indifference
as it stilled their
magnificent silence
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
~
*A blood promise
On the threshing floor
--a strand named Skull of Sidon.
The sunset passage
No longer a place for them,
The acceptance of absolute negation
Remedios the beauty.
Saint Fishermen churn in the waves
Crushing grapes from the estate,
Even the girl with the silver eyes,
Only then will their house be blessed.
Women uncharted,
But prisoned on watery shore,
Hum a silent prayer.
This is atonement day,
May grace be with them
In all the days ahead.*
~
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 5:35 PM UTC
Shameless ***********
***** knees and greedy mouths
Sublime atonement
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
When people hear time travel, they think fun.
Reliving moments in life that were filled with laughter and joy.
Like pounding back jagerbombs at the warehouse,
or leaving home and enjoying life on a resort.
When people hear time travel, they think atonement.
To go back and stop yourself from doing a loved one wrong,
or not making that left turn and crashing your camaro.
When people hear time travel, they think restoration.
A second chance if you will.
Like going back to school and studying harder,
or not making that last bet at the casino and losing all your cash.
When I hear time travel, I think of your lips.
Soft as a cloud and sweet as honey.
Your kiss had me surrendering my soul to you.
When I hear time travel, I think of your hands.
The most angelic touch, that could calm the angriest bull.
How it felt as if your fingers were made perfectly to fit into mine.
When I hear time travel, I think of your eyes.
A gateway to never ending happiness.
When we locked eyes, time would stop around us, leaving you and I in our own world.
When I hear time travel, I think of pain.
How you saying a couple words hurt more than a thousand shattered bones.
How you leaving felt as if someone punched me in the gut and left with every last bit of my breath.
When I hear time travel, I think yes.
Yes i'd endure all that again.
That crushing feeling as if you're 10,000 feet under the ocean.
Yes, if it meant I got to hold you again like a scared kid holding a teddy.
Yes, if it meant I got to witness how beautiful you look sipping on wine.
Your red lipstick staining the glass, and then my neck.
When I hear time travel, I think of you.
But just like time travel, our love doesn't exist.
For now.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
The roses of Love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtur’d ’mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in Love’s last adieu!
In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or Death disunite us, in Love’s last adieu!
Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,
Will whisper, “Our meeting we yet may renew:”
With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow’s represt,
Nor taste we the poison, of Love’s last adieu!
Oh! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth,
Love twin’d round their childhood his flow’rs as they grew;
They flourish awhile, in the season of truth,
Till chill’d by the winter of Love’s last adieu!
Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way,
Down a cheek which outrivals thy ***** in hue?
Yet why do I ask?—to distraction a prey,
Thy reason has perish’d, with Love’s last adieu!
Oh! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew:
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate Love’s last adieu!
Now Hate rules a heart which in Love’s easy chains,
Once Passion’s tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins,
He ponders, in frenzy, on Love’s last adieu!
How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of Love’s last adieu!
Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o’ercast;
No more, with Love’s former devotion, we sue:
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
The shroud of affection is Love’s last adieu!
In this life of probation, for rapture divine,
Astrea declares that some penance is due;
From him, who has worshipp’d at Love’s gentle shrine,
The atonement is ample, in Love’s last adieu!
Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight,
His cypress, the garland of Love’s last adieu!
3.7k
Dishes clang loud against the sink
Metal spoons bang white ceramic
Anger defies lifelong contract
Sacred and sealed with tears and tact
Adhesive is this stone of hurt
Lumped solidly within her throat
No easy atonement comes forth
Nor minor distraction does soothe
Her rant gathers no audience
No recall of what stoked this fire
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
Lately you're tender,
And my heart greedily takes,
While my mind warily wonders.
What is the reason?
Do you love me in tenderness, in passion?
Or do you love me in repentance?
Darling,
I've not the strength
To refuse to be your atonement.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
”against your will were you created,
against your will were you born,
against your will do you live,
against your will will you die, and
against your will will you stand in judgment before the
King of kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.”
Rabbi Elazar HaKappar (C.170 - C.200 CE)
(Ha Kappar: the one who made and gave atonement)
<§>
***in these, the years of my erosive declination,
when the noble prize, time for introspection,
once was a chore of delaying, now no longer can be off-put,
the certainties of Elazar, offer guidable satisfactions***
***the nighttime review, resurrecting my life, the gaps,
the untaken actions, those dream-schemes speak loudest,
memories of what should have been, are a litany of what ifs,
prosecutorial accusations of crass wastage***
***against my will, the charges brought,
against my will, plead guiltily my innocence,
against my will, knowingly, time’s erasure judgment,
secures my fate, all the granular cells causal dissipation***
***my warped willingness to be a coward,
it was my meditative, to natural be the lesser man,
choosing the safety premise, the road most oft trod,
the addition of my meager totality, willing given***
Even if all these land mine/roadblocks
and summary judgements are against my will,
willingly do I confess, in all innocence, my guilt,
“if it be my will”
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 2:45 PM UTC
crimson and magic
to splash without panic
in waves of compliance
for drugs made from science
and sorceress who summon the simple solutions
illusions! illusions!
of grander worth loosing
confusing the process will aid not for coptic
nor catholic
or elsewhere semantics
act frantic in panic
to sob without reason
treason! say treason!
the exit of reason
to wander in wander a fate beyond yonder
set ponder a path set by mind on the map
of solutions and systems
domestic conditions
yet wild apparitions
appear as conditioned - concerns
to a mindset as stern and subtracted
by fractions of actions repulsed by distraction
disgruntled reactions
supposing contractions
created the action
conceived from distractions
The reasons
let change be for seasons
while i stay the rock in the pond
either frozen not gone
as the watcher
still watching
content upon watching
exhaling the notion
that motions for movement
atonement! atonement!
with further consolement
atlas like the breeze of the gavel
let both parties ravel and tug
whether free or debugged
only mind over matter
unscrambles the lather
too see that is free
is like blind sight at sea
with the waves of conforming
to drown is informing
if not then be peace !
for all parties deceased
by a water so deep you could drown in your sleep
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
Purifying bath Katmandu Nepal
Yes come to these purifying waters join these ladies it will not perform the greater spiritual cleansing
But it provides a picture of glory with her lying on her back she is just slightly submerged in this grey
Clear water her face is beaming her shoulders are bare her hair flows around her neck on one side one
Arm is freely laid over her chest the other extends upward as a friend holds her by the wrist we all know
The bliss that water enriches us with her brown skin is truly purified and her personnel glory again
Beams with such peace soon the elements will converge to change her thoughts and feelings but they
Will not touch the conciseness that was altered in the river Baghmati during Reshi Panchmi a purifying
And Atonement day for women they bare extra burdens in foreign lands how great to see them
Experience such joy countless burdens are washed away at least momentarily water the friend and
Blessed comfort to matrons it provides one of the most picture perfect sights of a soul in repose you lie
Without care a dear friend holds you by the wrist they bottled water if only they could capture this
Special reality and provide it on demand there is nothing stopping anyone from acting this out it would
Change your day your whole perspective it would truly reenergize body and soul I thought I would just
Share a place in time a rite that provides concepts that ever so briefly will take you out of time fill you
With rapture make you devoid of care allow you to play in the courts of the extravagantly rich with out
Price or responsibility they say nothing is free it doesn’t get any more free or freeing than this I guess it
Cost nature the clouds way up in the Himalayas release the moist weight it falls as abundant rain the
River swells and flows gravity pulls it down to the lower valley and when you enter you luxuriate in
Water’s gift tell the tale Katmandu alone is renown but it has even greater layers of reward than the
normal expectations hope you enjoyed a refreshing
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 6:41 PM UTC
sweeps across the floor
like the hem of a rag
on a doll-faced *****
as the lights are dimmed
in this picket-fenced Attica.
To him, the raindrops taste like whiskey
so who's to blame him
for being a drunkard?
He will not take such condescension,
and so he shall pass it onto you
like a hot potato;
just say the third-degree burns
came from hugging the stove.
For you, life is not a Lifetime movie
looking at your bruises in the mirror
to a Celine Dion power ballad;
the days are a beach of intenstines
set alongside waves of toxic waste,
the moon now a mood ring
sitting atop the knuckles
of your vengeful king.
This decade of brutal purging,
atonement for sins not yet committed,
has felt as consuming
as his figure those Thursday nights
when he's stalking for his property,
and you're close-mouthed
under the bed,
looking through barely a slab
of this virtual reality,
at the iron-fisted giant
who would nurse your neuroses
if he'd stop bashing your face in.
Your expectations for the outcome
laced with Disney Princess satin
arrange themselves in a cross-legged noose
(the "O" stands for optimism),
for all this atonement
must be the beaten path
to the Garden of Eden.
You should just remember.
The men still pulled the lever,
licking the flames
as Joan of Arc sang her finale.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
Purifying bath Katmandu Nepal
Yes come to these purifying waters join these ladies it will not perform the greater spiritual cleansing
But it provides a picture of glory with her lying on her back she is just slightly submerged in this grey
Clear water her face is beaming her shoulders are bare her hair flows around her neck on one side one
Arm is freely laid over her chest the other extends upward as a friend holds her by the wrist we all know
The bliss that water enriches us with her brown skin is truly purified and her personnel glory again
Beams with such peace soon the elements will converge to change her thoughts and feelings but they
Will not touch the conciseness that was altered in the river Baghmati during Reshi Panchmi a purifying
And Atonement day for women they bare extra burdens in foreign lands how great to see them
Experience such joy countless burdens are washed away at least momentarily water the friend and
Blessed comfort to matrons it provides one of the most picture perfect sights of a soul in repose you lie
Without care a dear friend holds you by the wrist they bottled water if only they could capture this
Special reality and provide it on demand there is nothing stopping anyone from acting this out it would
Change your day your whole perspective it would truly reenergize body and soul I thought I would just
Share a place in time a rite that provides concepts that ever so briefly will take you out of time fill you
With rapture make you devoid of care allow you to play in the courts of the extravagantly rich with out
Price or responsibility they say nothing is free it doesn’t get any more free or freeing than this I guess it
Cost nature the clouds way up in the Himalayas release the moist weight it falls as abundant rain the
River swells and flows gravity pulls it down to the lower valley and when you enter you luxuriate in
Water’s gift tell the tale Katmandu alone is renown but it has even greater layers of reward than the
normal expectations hope you enjoyed a refreshing
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 6:41 PM UTC
I had fallen down hard this time,
Found myself at the bottom of it all,
When somewhere past the void,
I heard my own future call.
It struck a chord in me,
Unexpected but I could feel,
My hidden heart made of flint,
Fate struck like it's ever present steel.
Again, again, again, and again,
Round, and round, and round,
How much I tried to lock myself up,
Life refused to let me be bound.
Wrapped up in my past,
I did my best to hide,
I was never going to be enough,
Trying to escape in the shadow of pride.
I was buried in the frozen earth,
Knowing some day Spring would come,
So I clung to my old shell,
When I felt the world start to hum.
Begin, Begin, Begin and again,
The sacred circle was never broken,
Fleeting dreams tumble away,
As the sacred words are spoken.
Though scars will be left behind,
My feet still find their place,
My tired heart beats again,
My Will returns to it's relentless pace.
My goal was finally achieved,
and my atonement was past,
The Day is finally beginning to dawn,
The empty night was not meant to last.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC
The delicacy of the mind.
Strong impressions.
Vivid images.
Of past regressions.
Benevolent enemies,
Are attentively concluded.
Amidst their repugnance.
Intellect becomes secluded.
Paths of judgement.
Easily twist to falter.
Register atonement.
Evils become softer.
Conveyed assurance,
False sense of civility.
Sober thoughts, drunken words.
Lead to tolerable tranquility.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
**zero context shifts
*multitasking is multi~asking your brain
to do what does not come naturally,
the enthused poem starts up, lion roaring,
a muscle car, brain throbs organic pulses
semi~orgasmic of a near-completion in
your neuronic ***** exciting and ****
all you-writ so far is:
your name, some crazed, minimal
two fingers of words with
no context, no preconceived word lotion to
balm-spread over the enflamed areas of
your brain skin
except that it’s
6:47 am, coffee in hand,
your woman slumber rumbles a left over dream,
speechifying, and room, cool conditioned cold,
ignoring notifications of overnight elections,
and a reminder-by-photo where you were this
day seven years ago today, all put asided,
permission ungranted to any distractions,
there will be zero context shifts* til the
spillage of your morn squeaking meager is fully
pillage~d here, it be within my it-takes-no-
village,
@ 6:56 and Whitman is tsk-tsking at the low poetry of my scripting, Hafiz says “hey!
nothing about god or love, what good is that?”
but it’s ok for i’ve emptied the early morning
brain bowels,
defused fusses and asides, tossed asided & there is yet some coffee
remaining but the expiation for having been
reborn this newly birthed day has earned me atonement
for taking up space in this planet
and as of yet, I’ve not stated yet to any, no. all
humans, I hate you ~ but the day is infantile
and opportunity plentiful
@7:03AM
nyc
morning
Wed Nov 8,
in the year of hatred,
a/k/a twenty twenty three.
Nov 8, 2023
Nov 8, 2023 at 7:33 AM UTC
.
•the ••••••••
old man wi- ••••••••
thered•as suns ••••••••
would set....over ••••••••
many days•follies ••••••••
he committed, then ••••••••
unencumbered•fina- ••••••••
lly caught up...so now ••••••••
he pays • like an unca- ••••••••
ged bird, he had left his ••••••••
perch• not looking
back, leaving behi-
nd hatchlings and
nest• he discarded
his roots when he
left them in the lu-
rch• flew to pursue
what he had thoug-
ht was best•now he's
ailing thin.....he seeks
to reconcile • reached
to his sons...and left a
voice message•asking
atonement for his cri-
mes so despicable and
vile • for now he lays con- ••••••••
sumed.........by illness and ••••••••
rage•hours tick by as his ••••••••
days blur into weeks...• ••••••••
his frail breaths weak- ••••••••
en as he succumbs in ••••••••
bed•finally the call ••••••••
did come bearing ••••••••
the absolution ••••••••
he seeks• ••••••••
just a minute too late,
for the old man is already
dead•
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
It is where it is, not where you are...
Switched this week from ice coffee,
Back to hot, on September Thirteenth.
The chain busted,
No Adirondack throne, no audiences of
Southbound geese, my new ******** fans,
No **** arrogant deer
Pitying the stupid humans,
Occupying their lands.
No racing rabbits, crickets underfoot,
And in the house,
No raccoons bigger than a colt.
No just living, breathing eyes, seeing paradiso,
No place for god to come visit to chill,
And ask for atonement for chemical weapons
No bay waves soulfully soothing,
No sun, no cherries by command,
The breeze, voila, a nasty cold wind,
The bath-waves ain't no **** substitute,
Not-Near good enough,
No matter how hard I splash.
**** right I was worried.
I lifted up my eyes to the mountains—
From where will my poetry come from?
From men.
From women.
From you-reminding me,
It is where it is, not where you are...
It is here in the unread tragedies,
The wails so plain, repetitive,
The screams that never cease, the
Poems, yours, that deserve ten thousand likes,
But die ignored, despite, my best efforts.
It is in the newspapers,
Chroniclers of our daily,
Inhumanity,
And papal words, that lift a jew's heart,
That poems get birthed.
It is in the woman's dictums
About doing this and that
And where that is most preferred.
Point made. Quitting time.
It is where it is, not where you are...
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
Half a life
Half a love
Undivided submission;
Half-hearted
I am utterly devoted
To lesser moments.
Between the sheets
The mind drifts
In search of atonement;
Part-time wrong
Entirely yours
An inevitable outcome.
It is living half a life
Accepting half love
Full-time;
My light,
Take me out of the dark
The courage within to say goodbye.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC