"carson" poems
drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end of my 2nd bottle
of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of
poesy
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young girls in this
dwindling twilight
liver gone
kidneys going
pancrea pooped
top-floor blood pressure
while all the fear of the wasted years
laughs between my toes
no woman will live with me
no Florence Nightingale to watch the
Johnny Carson show with
if I have a stroke I will lay here for six
days, my three cats hungrily ripping the flesh
from my elbows, wrists, head
the radio playing classical music ...
I promised myself never to write old man poems
but this one's funny, you see, excusable, be-
cause I've long gone past using myself and there's
still more left
here at 3 a.m. I am going to take this sheet from
the typer
pour another glass and
insert
make love to the fresh new whiteness
maybe get lucky
again
first for
me
later
for you.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985
7.9k
By: Cedric McClester
When Trump and Carson fall
And the foolishness ceases
Rubio will be there
To pick up the pieces
He’s salivating
As his chance increases
He’s now looking at curtains
And White House leases
When Trump and Carson fall
And the race is in shambles
He’ll bet his house
You see. The man gambles
He’s not alone
Cuz there’s many other examples
Of men who’ve picked up swatches
And other samples
When Trump and Carson fall
And they look towards the rest
Rubio’s convinced
That he alone is the best
In fact he’s thinking
Nevertheless
It will be him and not the others
There’s no contest
When Trump and Carson fall
As inevitably they must
And Marco Rubio watches the others
Bite the dust
As they complain
Then spit and cuss
Marco will be the one
To lead the rest of us
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
This is for the residents who remember
And for the transplants who
Have yet to be informed
But have got an inkling
Burque has gone from
Bustling to busted
And back again
Growing up in the 80’s
I learned about the
Varying degrees of “sick”
As my dad pointed out
The pekid pachucos perusing
Pharmacy isles
Attempting to purchase
Cough syrup with codeine
In the evenings
Driving home down Central
I would ceremoniously
Count hookers
My parents would
Precariously pack heat
In the trunk of our car
Or even in my mom’s special ***** pack
With the hidden compartment
For her .38 snub nose
Because you never know
Who will be in your home
When you arrive
That’s a given
When flop houses are
Interwoven with prime real estate
And barrio boundaries
Border the bourgeois’ bungalows
And Huning’s Castles
And residents rarely recognize
Or realize
That aside from the locals
The European Jews
Was the only group gutsy enough
To settle here
And create commerce
Despite risks of being raided
By Apaches
And they reaped the benefits
Off Roma and Marquette
Because the rewards
Turned out to be greater than
The risks
And up North
Where Sephardic turned Crypto
Conversions to Catholicism
Kept the Messiah’s spirit alive
But in basements
They still did Chi fives!
I was saddened in middle school
When I realized
That many of our parents
Were too ashamed of our roots
To teach us Spanish
And our
Schools ****** so severely
That most of us
Didn’t learn English either
But hey –
All you need to
Communicate while cruising
Are cat calls
And the thumping boom
Of the bass in the tubes
And the hydraulic drop
When they hit
The hot spots
From Tingley, Kit Carson and
Central to Copper
Each kid dreams that
His ride
Will be the show stopper
I could rant and rave
And rattle off for days
But bottom line –
We have the most
Curious state
With mysterious qualities
And in-depth histories
But most of us are
More concerned with
Bud Light
And Biscochitos
Con Manteca
Because it just tastes great!
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
Ireland is riddled with
cancer.
Pesticides, herbicides,
fungicides-
Are obviously, not the
answer.
Dairygold® have got
it right. Surprisingly!
Organic pastureland,
green grass, happy cows!
"Golden Valleys,
Growing Naturally" ?
("Logo ™")
without the question
mark.
<>
In the event of Corporate
Punishment, IE, finding a
herd of hungry Friesians
in my front lawn, or my
next organic pizza happens
to be a Crispy Cow Pat with
lashings of Mozzarella, I am
hereby declaring that Silent
Spring lady, Rachel Carson,
was bumped off for making
metaphorical accusations, such
as could be interpreted by those
who are currently involved in
the depopulation process by
way of poisoning the people
via consumer products, that
are known to contain harmful
carcinogenic compounds veiled
by misleading advertising.
natural
adjective
1. her policy of using fresh, natural produce: unprocessed, organic, pure, wholesome, unrefined, pesticide-free, chemical-free, additive-free, unbleached, unmixed, real, plain, ****** crude, raw. ANTONYMS artificial, refined.
2. a natural occurrence: normal, ordinary, everyday, usual, regular, common, commonplace, typical, routine, standard, established, customary, accustomed, habitual, run-of-the-mill, stock, unexceptional. ANTONYMS abnormal, unnatural, exceptional.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 4:43 AM UTC
My grandmother sends me a birthday card, all glitter
and for the child in me.
The cover shouts,
“Happy Birthday to a granddaughter who has a sparkling personality, good looks, and a great sense of humor!”
and my sister asks if she has seen me lately.
We laugh.
The only handwritten inscription within declares
“Carson fell again—had to go to hospital this time.”
Happy Birthday to me, with love and
the unintentional reminder that I’ve not yet reached an age where a simple slip could result in
broken hips
or worse.
I’ll send her a thank you card, detailing my ambition,
what I will do with the money,
and a big thank you.
I suppose the most secrets I keep from anybody,
I keep from her.
I figure grandmothers don’t need more stress, don’t need to worry about
the somewhat-problems of life from a girl who will always seem too young,
who will always be glitter and
a child within.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:21 AM UTC
butterflies love the blood,
tumbling about in bellies,
whisk it away, the way we pray,
a bird being carried by a breeze,
lifted essence, manifested,
heart shade, finally, at ease,
signal came through,
translated to
sharpened claws,
unclenched jaws -
unthought it all while sober -
*you came as ocean, as breeze,
as birds, as leaves,
as hues and blues,
sunshines and moons,
and you left as you pleased,
opened my mouth wide to cry for you,
praise you,
love you, raise you above
what I've said in silence,
unbreak the trust I betrayed in private,
you came as hearts, as people I've known,
and stories never told, as whispers,
as hugs, and as kisses,
as melodies, repeatedly on my brain, as so,
absent of you,
I came to know you:*
butterflies love the blood,
dying slowly from the greed,
whisk it away, the way I pray,
would ask for your forgiveness,
but I know there is no need,
I feel you in the leaps
of knowing when to regret,
and when to let it be,
summon the tides stronger
aside dying suns, each day,
each night I pray for you to call upon me,
like you did when I was your favourite color,
pray for you to love the me now, and be sure of no other,
so if I adjust the pitch,
tune the sounds to form around
your wisdom, or pretty eyes,
maybe the melody will reach you again,
if not for love,
lost at sea,
then for truth,
and maybe friends we'll be,
no longer eclipsed by rumors
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
There’s a salesperson at the door
someone said
and so you went to the door
and there was the young salesman
with a book in his hand
and in a sharp grey suit
and hair neat and short cut
yes?
you said
I represent Carson’s stores
and it has been brought
to my notice
that you are behind
with your payments
is that so?
you said
yes
the young guy said
three months behind
and if you don’t pay today
the item you have chosen to buy
will be removed
is that so?
you said
the young guy looked
into his book of figures
and script
so you called out
Dolly there’s a young guy here
who says we owe him money
you both waited
while Dolly came to the door
what do we owe?
she asked
money
the young guy said
what for?
Dolly said
a vacuum cleaner
the young guy said
you are three months behind
now if you do not pay up today
it will be removed
Dolly raised her eyebrows
and put on her
don’t mess with me face
and went off
the young guy
and you looked
at each other in silence
after a few minutes
Dolly returned
carrying the vacuum cleaner
here
she said
here’s your **** Hoover
take the thing
and go stick it
where the sun
don’t shine
and so the young man
held up the vacuum cleaner
and looked at you
and Dolly
and said
right don’t come back
to the store
because you won’t
be served again
and off he went
out along the road
in the falling black rain.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
.
Ben
CarsonBenCar
sonBenCarsonBe
nCarsonBenCars
onBenCarsonBen
CarsonBenCars
onBenCarsonB
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Ben Carson
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 2:57 PM UTC
Drink and I feel hopeless,
Smoke and I feel the dopeness,
My words are monumental,
Need to put em down on an instrumental,
Just to lay the stencil,
Taking notes with a pencil,
People make it in life just making songs of dances,
I write about a ***** named Carson's advancements,
Took me a while,
Hardheaded ever since I was wild as a child.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
colin kissed hannah instead
and i was nate's second choice
i found out about joe too late
and carson puked on my shoes
wyatt was the first everything
and louis was only a phone call
slade didn't care about my heart
and maklin shouldn't have
you were so much less, so much more
and i know because
it hurts when
i try to write your name.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 5:39 AM UTC
Texas, you ran on me like blood,
miles of road building up for an anticlimax.
Sun on her back, begging for rust,
wringing herself for another hour of daylight.
Green and golden grass through the windshield
speckled with red.
Made me want the coming dust,
made the vibrant greens of the humid East
seem like anthills worth cementing over,
Golden red. Wind whipped through the car windows,
nostalgia in a place I'd never seen.
I wanted to break you. Time was too still,
change was too slow for me. Southwest America had my name
drawn in dead bug splatters and drained coffee cups
somewhere ahead.
Time doesn't translate to these long miles,
it's just you and me and something new, something old.
Me and the windshield and the dead bugs,
and flitting thoughts of North Carolina,
repeated songs, hard silences,
and something chilling about these dead towns.
Some salty Pacific air already on my tongue.
Something nameless to remind me that being young is bittersweet,
and I don't know what I'm running from
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Call me a chump
But I’m with Trump
When it comes to Carson
He can’t be accused of parsing
When he says pathological
He’s being pedagogical
Using the man’s own words
Which completely under girds
What the man said
About the thoughts in his head
And it’s no more than logical
He said he’s pathological
We must wonder hard
If he’d still go that extra yard
To practice his absurdity
I know the thought’s occurred to me
Cuz if you take a look
Inside his true confession book
You’re gonna be amazed
As he recounts the different ways
He showed off his temper
With his mother front and center
Then a friend or relative
Who he tried his best to shive
It may sound like a joke
But thank God the blade broke
Then there’s the guy that he rocked
With a solid steel padlock
But no one can recall
Because the tales he tells are tall
Though he insists they’re true
But those who know him asked, "Who knew?"
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
Bennie in White House
helping the rich get richer
while poor quickly rot
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
In meadows, rich with clover, I have seen them here before;
those industrious little creatures at their pollinating chore.
Now the land is strangely silent, was Rachel Carson right?
Are we killing all the bumblebees? Have they made their final flight?
There are those who point to climate change as the source of all our pain.
If the bumble bee is dying, it is heat stress that’s to blame.
Others theorize a virus as the cause of their demise;
an illness ravaging the hives and emptying our skies.
I even heard one scientist make the hypothesis
that our overuse of cell phones is the cause of all of this.
Could it be that our usage of glyphosate is to blame;
As GMO spreads on our fields, our crops are not the same.
Monsanto is an Agri-Corp with bought friends in D.C.;
A “friendly Legislature insures profitability.
The F.D.A. is slow to act; Congress drafts obstructive laws.
It seems to me, just possibly, they already know the cause.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
on the outside, nobody'd ever known he was unhappy.
he had his mother's eyes, soft and blue,
reminded me of babies for some reason.
he used to pop in every now and then to give me the news,
gossip he'd heard at school that day,
the what-not.
i was real sick at the time, mama had to keep me hidden away sometimes,
ya know, i think she was a little ashamed seeing how it was a little her fault.
i didn't blame her for nothin' though.
anyways, he came and went as he pleased, nice boy he was.
used to wrap me up in a blanket and wheel me onto the porch so we could watch
the cars and the rich folk with dogs jog right on by, like they ain't never seen a girl with no hair
and a boy as handsome as he was.
we was a regular spectacle, a bonafide freak show,
and them people they always gonna talk, but he told me that the only people that listen are
the ones doin' the talkin', and that ain't us, so we ain't listenin'.
i didn't find out about his daddy until about a month after it happened,
for some reason people have a hard time telling someone who's dying that somebody died,
can you believe that?
he stopped comin' around so much after that, figured it was 'cause a his mama (with the eyes)
needin' extra help round the house.
weeks, maybe even a month went by 'fore i saw him again,
but he wasn't the same boy, and i sure as hell wasn't the same girl.
he looked at me, with them eyes, as if he'd just lost the lottery.
ya know, he sat me down and told me that he couldn't be around me no more,
seeing as how i was dyin' and all. ( i thought that was pretty dumb, i may be dyin' but i ain't dead yet)
he held my hand in his, his was a little clammy, i think 'cause he was so sad and all.
we sat there for a few minutes, hand in hand, thinkin' bout life and death, and the johnny carson show.
now, he never said nothin', but i think he loved me. i never got to find out the truth though.
he disappeared after that day, nobody heard from him, his mama was all outta sorts.
i think he left town, couldn't stand seein' people lookin' at him and me all the time,
the bonafide freakshow,
couldn't stand bein' round his broken mama.
doesn't really matter where he went off to, he was gone just the same.
some days, when im sittin' on the porch, wrapped up in a blanket, waiting to die,
i feel his clammy hand holdin' mine.
you see, when you don't have much left to live for,
it's people like him that save you.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 1:58 AM UTC
He would run to his house, emergency or not
And they would go to Lake Erie to bathe in April,
They would watch the seasons go by in the water,
hijack golf carts from the course nearby
And cruise around the neighborhoods
Millennium falconing it through suburban
Michigan, dubbing it *The Night We Took Down
The Empire*
And eventually they would tucker out and
Afternoon on the asphalt, cul-de-sac, kissing
Waiting for the Detroit to catch up to the sun
They dreamed of places to go
And he would often say Where?
And his response would often be
Anywhere;
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
We have no time to sit and wait,
Our incumbents already procrastinate.
What will it take for them to understand,
We can not act this way towards the land.
The skies cry polluted rain,
Those neurotoxins dance in my brain.
Our governments think they know whats best,
But how am I differentiated from the rest.
They do not know my personal needs,
My wants, my desires, my worldly dreams.
They are but that to infect decision,
To enter the brain with a quick incision.
Not to control, but to inform,
The world we live in is finding it hard to perform.
The things so many take for granted
have become a product of disenchantment.
Those that have noticed have started to yell,
To Rachel Carson's pen critics fell.
But to what end did it serve?
We want more than we healthily deserve.
With the end goal being money and power,
We have approached upon her final hour.
We have no time to sit and wait,
The problems tend to exacerbate.
What will it take to mitigate the masses?
While our governments feet are stuck in malaises.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
Ode to My Hero (Me)
to be sung by Donald Trump
with apologies to Gilbert & Sullivan's
H.M.S Pinafore
As a callow youth I served a term
as Senior VP of my Daddy's firm
His moxie and his money so suited me
that now I am the ruler of the Trump fam'ly
When asked a question, my Golden Rule
is to bluster loud and flaunt my cool,
And this evasion so well suits me
that I've become the master of chicanery.
With legal suits, I've made so free
that all my smitten lenders bow down to me
For I pay my lawyers so liberally
that I never lose a dollar on a bankruptcy.
If now and then my luck runs out
I've buckets of money from my TV route,
And since my ******* up name is Gold
the money keeps a 'comin from the young and old.
For my great fame they pay and pay
and their paltry savings they fling away
on Trump U studies they're sure to find, will empty their wallets, not fill their mind.
So listen and learn from my Trumpery
and join white men who hate Hillary
They holler hosannas for their hero DonT, though for Trump adulation they can't beat me!
My heads not troubled by policy woes
'cause I learn all I want at beauty shows
I've put up very well with my three wives,
my yachts & my mansions & my gambling dives.
I've exalted myself unsparingly
and tossed off little lies with impunity
Let fey foes fault me as vain & mean,
their rightful envy leaves me quite serene.
With my big mouth and red regal head
I've clobbered all my rivals until they bled
With frank contempt I dissed Jeb B
bashed Carson & Kasich and Ted's lady.
There's hardly a Republican left to fight
and, in wimpy Dems, I inspire fright
while fearful folks seek my mighty arm
to shield them all from ISIS harm.
Now I've come to the end of this very fine Ode
to march with pride on the Presidential Road
For my boundless bluster's so elevated me
that now I am the ruler of the GOP.
If another Trump you aspire to be,
you must never, never fret about decency.
Just stiff the losers and brag like me,
and you may be the Grand Old Party's nominee.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 5:36 PM UTC
“That’s what America is about,” Carson said. “A land of dreams and opportunity. There were other immigrants who came here in the bottom of slave ships, worked even longer, even harder for less."
Ben Carson is a might confusing
because he is without a doubt
a brilliant brain surgeon
& yet,
& yet ...
according to him
he communes telepathically
with wild bears,
can calm armed-robbers,
stabbed his best friend,
& now sees slavery as
some sort of Welcome
To the Land of Liberty
All are Welcome Act.
Ben Carson is an idiot
because well ...
where to start,
well how's about millions
of folks forced to board
ships naked, afraid,
chained in rows,
as SLAVES,
& yes, half of all slave infants
died in the first year,
survivors lived on a basic
nutrition-free gruel,
there was diarrhea, dysentery,
whooping cough, blindness,
skin lesions &
convulsions,
& they were
SLAVES.
but to Dr. Ben Carson
these terrified, beaten,
chained, whipped,
SLAVES ...
were immigrants
just like you
and just like me.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 1:30 AM UTC
Turn the "M" sideways.
Marshal Mathers
Marilyn Monroe
Marilyn Manson
Matthew McConaughey
Meghan Markle
Mac Miller
Melissa McCarthy
Mads Mikkelsen
Mandy Moore
Max Minghella
Malcom McDowell
M.J (M) 13+(J) 10 = 23 (two threes) 33
Michael Jordan
Michael Jackson
Michael Johnson
Magic Johnson
**** Jagger
Marc Jacobs
Milla Jovovich
Montel Jordan
C.C (C) 3+(C) 3 = (Two Threes)
Chevy Chase
Cindy Crawford
Chelsea Clinton
Courtney ***
Chris Cornel
Christopher Columbus
Charlie Chaplin
Camila Cabello
Chris Cuomo
Chuck Connors
B.C or C.B (B) 2+(C) 3 = (Two Threes)
Bill Clinton
Bill Cosby
Bradley Cooper
Benedict Cumberbatch
Billy Crystal
Ben Carson
Chadwick Boseman
Christian Bale
Chris Brown
Charles Bronson
Chris Benoit
Companies Hiding Evil Numbers
BBC=223 Skull and bones 322 (biblical) just Google 322 bible. They are trying to become God's. Eat from the tree of life and live forever. What do you think that means?
WWE Flip the letters around and you get 333. For 33.3
CNN logo is CW for 33 (C)3 + (W) flipped is a 3
F.O.X in the hebrew alphabet is 666
Sep 28, 2021
Sep 28, 2021 at 5:51 AM UTC
I woke with a start,
the cracked wooden shutters banging wearily in the wind, hinges groaning, slowly rusting, fully unaware that their time had past, instead they hold on like steadfast soldiers defending a front that no longer matters, in a war that’s already been lost
And, as sleep dissipates, my attention narrows and I -
I realize that I have no wooden shutters, that they have not
been attached to a house in which I’ve slept for more years than
most dogs live in east coast towns with half lit neon signs
O en 24 rs
and yet somehow I heard them rat, tat, tattering like the
shuffling of shoes attached to a woman that needs a wheelchair
but refuses, in favor of a walker, who never leaves the house without
removing all the curlers and putting on her face
None the less the shutters, some time long ago
were torn and left asunder, when the house was removed from
its foundation, by a chipped yellow painted machine,
with enough torque to remove the home in which I grew from existence, leaving a gaping hole that was the basement
where I had my first second base
But there is you, laying beside me, gently breathing in the dark
like the consistent flow of ocean waves, lapping the shore with certitude then slowly disappearing into the vastness of the green blue sea
You are more than I ever could have hoped for, more than I
could have imagined decades ago, when, with a pillow pulled upon my head,
wishing that the wooden shutters attached to my blue green house would drown out the sound adults in family rooms make when
screams are louder than Carson and the studio audience’s laughter
Instead of falling back to sleep, I prefer to listen to your ocean’s breath, the silence from the family room that you and I occupy, while hoping to one day hold you steady long after you need a wheelchair but prefer instead my forearm and a cane
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 12:37 AM UTC
In Carson you took my hand as we crossed the whitecapped river - cold water cramping toes, we minced our way along algaed rocks like cats tiptoeing on ice
But in Tillamook we hunted Dungeoness crab and I roared for you
Did you hear?
We were hunting our kin - and I wondered if this could be sacrilege to the Cancers, perhaps not
But I heard the quiet "Thankyou," given to each one as you lowered them into the *** the reverence in your voice soothed me like the pounding of the Pacific arm along that beach - my own golden shore -
I thought I had lost it you see -
Hidden in the dunes we consumed the flesh of the ***** and sat down to watch the sun melt into the blue
I wanted to say thank you too
But the words escaped me like your bandanna flying out from the truck
Like those ***** in the bay below who felt us tugging at the lines and crawled out of the ascending baskets, escaping death from our mouths
I like to think that we are them as well
Because we both run from comfortable prisons, the pillow that cradles the head but entraps the heart.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
I danced the seven animals.
Then I danced them backwards.
We are all deluded about the nature of life.
It may be written, it may be being written.
I saw the Great Mountain.
The dead have never left us.
Johnny Carson was on television tonight.
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
They sell **** to poor people.
But its OK.
They are poor too.
I love that fiction book section.
I feel like I'm getting one over on them.
Hemingway,$1. Saroyan, $1,The Bronte girls,$1,D.H., $1, Sartre,$3, Camus...25¢...
I walk to the counter
"Your total is...$10."
They feel like they're getting one over on me.
Anyways...
(shit...I've been drinking. It makes everything seem
poetic.)
I'm standing in the fiction section.
It's next to the women's bathroom
And it reeks like demon's ****
I stand staring
Lobotomized.
So many titles
So much ****
But... you never know...
**** I was just thinking about the time I made a *** tape at 15...)
I found some more
Hem, Voltaire, Joyce .
I was having an
Ok
Day.
Then I smelled it.
Lavender on fire
In a torched
Green-black forest.
I looked over.
A beautiful blonde
Knelt down
Searching the very bottom row
Of the fiction section.
Christ...
May I combust
Now
And never see another
Sight.
She stood up
And stepped closer to me
Our shoulders touched.
"Sorry" she smiled
Green eyes.
I never notice eyes.
Green eyes.
"That's alright."
*****
She stood right next to me
Maybe, 10 minutes.
Say something
You lonely miserable *******
All that reading you've done
She is browsing at fiction...
Say something, ******
Then her friends walked over
"Hey,(sunburntlavendardrippinginnapalm) you ready to go?"
"Hold up..." She exhaled
Say something
You drunkard lonely son of a *****
She stood up.
Looked at me.
Then left.
Green eyes.
I exhaled
Looked at the bottom shelf.
SHE, was there again...
Carson McCullers.
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter
With her
"You'll never finish me, Ray." Smirk.
I smirked back.
Took her up to the counter...
$3.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
I cut myself
picking up the pieces
of your already
broken heart
- Carson Hurley
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC