"cerebellum" poems
So tired yet so awake
I sit at the edge of an ellipsis
crimping the charred innards of my tattered soul
to make a masterpiece of gore
and internal war.
over the years of self loathing
I finally love myself
but getting ****** up feels ****** perfect
and watching this world unfold anew with each hit
or shot
rocks my mind
unkind but exemplary in it's own fortitude
to prevail my own veils
aside they're cast and fumbled with
as thick smiles seed
and the pace is set for the evening
I can't help but think that leaving
could do me good
but who backs out before the last shot?
who leaves before the deafening toll of midnight?
Cinderella's umbrella of security
and purity
is at jeopardy
and with great haste she wastes away the good looks
for late night *****
and nicotine
forgetting to clean
her closet of supreme validity on
the functioning teen
trying not to be mean,
but completely obscene in gestures
with the barbie's manufacturers groping for caspers
in the utopian disasters of the girl they forged
many decades back, but lost track
of the track that played that summer night
in the moonlight of immaculate humor and love
above all the oozing essence that manifested
now tested, for virtual ******
your cerebellum will tellem the positive
credo
that we all know is hooked on the days drift wood with
byzantine benzodiazapines to guide her haunted spirit
till
the cracks turn to crevasses and prehistoric protons mate with electrons
in the vat that is abrewing to plot the lies
watch the skies fade to grey as it may
be about time for the ecliptic rhymes to find
reconciliation
in the bladed grains of mortality and sigh
for being high in this lowered juncture
of subsisting future
buys you time to mull over such a daydream
as your last breath
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
I hate zombies
they are the infantile enemy
the foe against which there is
no guilt
the essential
human
questions of right of wrong
of morality
never apply to the cerebellum-craving
undead. It's us or them
hunt or be hunted
**** or be killed
they are enemies that fail to
challenge
our notions of what it is
to be us
give me a werewolf any day
or rather - any moon
the tortured lycanthrope
forces the protagonist to
choose to **** because
unlike zombies
there's always
a chance
however small
that a werewolf
can find
redemption
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
You are a compass, and eventually every direction you lead me in takes me back to you. I think I am the north pole. I think I'm confused, or just confusing you; I think we're two of a kind.
I once watched your magnetic heart swell when I touched you: I realized I was hurting you as I loved you all too tenderly; I never thought of that as a possibility.
You quickly made yourself a home in my cerebellum; I can't even sleep anymore. You're always there, tapping, tapping, tapping, sneaking your way through me, pulling strings that don't belong to you. I can't talk about you: you always interfere. My tongue tumbles ineloquently over your name; I've lost control. You are, again, tapping, rapping on my motor controls. Get out of my head, or come back home to my heart.
I am bitter, and I am turning, and I am not sure whose fault it is. In the end I'm sure it's mine, but it's much easier to blame you, and I do. I blame you. Why did I have to love you; why did I have to leave you? What made this all happen, was it the stars, or the moon forcing a change in the tides? Was it some other cliché, or was it just my idiotic decision?
I have lost you again.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
allocation of supreme alliteration illustrates perpetual contemplation and concentration that dictates a maligned mastication of federal incarceration of elongated complementary probation leaving you cuffed and based on baseless accusations conducted in aboriginal abbreviations masked task force concluding a course of brevity conducted in coordination then coordinating and copulating condemnation for a homeostasis of thought bought scolded eroded and shot inefficacy perpetrating cultural holocaust irrelevance somersaults galactic static of mathematical bombastic smack addict glued shut in a craft attic floral resurrection gartered section of ****** selection she moves fluid through unaltered perfection of cosmic bypass past the point of extemporaneous infinitude reciprocating fortitude of sinews congregating fabricating visuals of vitality soldering axonal membranes on the cerebellum and cortex simulation of sensual vortex demented fusion more blessed I am that which stands to understand the incomprehensible unconsidered options of racial conflicts the screaming round of unaltered copper fiber severing life from the living only now can we debunk the years
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
Tell me what makes me love you?
Tell me what makes me want you?
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 23, 2009 at 9:13 AM UTC
“What can a poem do?”
—————————-
***”A poem
is a not a tourniquet
when you’re bleeding.
It’s not water when you’re thirsty
or food when you’re hungry.
A poem can’t protect you from an airstrike,
or from abduction, or from hate.
It’s hard to write when our words feel
like they’re not enough—they can’t do
the real, tangible work of saving lives,
or making people safer.”***
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
<~>
as is my wont,
I write,
as is my Natted~inhabited,
retiring to the local watering holes of
Cerebrum & Cerebellum,
them regular haunts,
where all requests are mailed, processed, satisfied & marked;
‘return & render to the sender, who’s on a cerebral ******
and that request?
‘give me the words’ (2)
those ‘to do’ words, floaters, direct to top of list,
those ‘can do’ words, that can effect the affect,
spare the despair, realize the fungible, concretize cures,
soften hard waters, giving a worsening worn life fabric a
curated baby blanket feel, a 4-ply human tissue of
‘words that tell me everything’ (2)
salve solution verbs that bounty-wipe spills in entirety,
vacuum up spillage spoiling of 17 days of terrible nouns,
uncovered-unknown rages caused by inflicting prepositions
released a hatred rising,
safety rebury it deeper, drug & destruct the sleeper agents,
and let me start over again with
‘telling me everything by saying nothing’ (2)
the pausal silence, the quieted spaces tween the heartbeats,
where ‘reflection,’
the noun,
and its world of alternations,
reflection,
the noun,
look inwards, but shining outward,
this, this!
is where the poem goes to do!
enervating & arresting
its contradictory powers
rock you into wild docility,
possessive and submissive,
contradictory interferences,
smoothing the roughness,
closing the gaps it opens,
healing the caused truthful cuts,
with words that tell you
everything and nothing,
open the holes, filling the gaps,
that is what a
poem do,
in and by
the manner it is spoken…
<~>
“Sometimes a poem is the stone you carry in your pocket—the one you rub when you’re worried. Let’s fill our pockets with poems.”
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 10:10 PM UTC
Is there a way to say what I feel without having to hide in strawberry fields.
I look for a way to disguise my cries, with clever language and creative lies.
Despise me if you really care about another mothers terrible heir.
Dare to spare me a little change, I need a sip of something strange.
The taste of nature smelling sweet now signifies I am complete.
I don't mean to say what manages to emerge.
When it comes to gluttony, we always tend to purge.
Scrambling through the dialogue I've logged within my cerebellum cell.
Heaven is a Neverland, this place, a kind of Hell.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
She hides in pockets of flesh in my gums
I can taste her in the morning when I spit
at night I can feel her swimming in an ocean of mouthwash
In sleep she oozes onto my pillow
moistening the dusty fabric under my cheek
When shes really playful
she will wiggle herself into my cerebellum
and dance furiously with my dreams
or gently sing lullabies when my heart wont let me sleep
when the world and its filth have commandeered my hope
she is there to brush away the dirt with untarnished hands
she is my religion she is my ******
without her I am sick
a smoldering heat of black matter and fungi
she is antibacterial soap on my soul
Lysol wipes to my tarred lungs
with one whiff I am cleansed of debris
she saturates the oxygen in my blood
she resides in my abdomen
I can feel her in my kidneys.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 5:08 PM UTC
frantic antics rewire my brain,
almost as if it were never a brain at all—
circuits and switches and copper thread,
my computerized cerebellum, my inorganic head,
as biology becomes machine.
what powers my body,
this metallic monstrosity?
there is no plug, no battery—
only the cogs and gears of a watchmaker's fever dream
and sheer, dumb luck.
because, while they stood around
and waited idly for my parts to rust,
i was killing time in a vacuum,
ignoring the earnest embraces of air and rain.
and thus, here i rest,
with the sound of my own meek ticking
thrumming against these pink asylum walls
but because i stayed awake to tell the tale,
and to rub their sordid noses in the dirt,
i suppose my isolation was worth it.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
Ballads R-U the
nourishment
Like the Bella baby
greens
Tossing your salad like
The artwork deviant
Like the myriad
The musical chairs
Messages unique piece
Playing the brain organs
The new road of legions
Cerebellum moving
Perky pinks the possum
We move into a certain era
Intense Opera breathing, pacing, dreaming
More feeding the balance of love needing
Musical digestion
Heart rate inside
your movement shows
affection
All themes like soap operas
The nervous system musical brain
Gets damaged like the Asylum
So emotional heartbeat got more
rhythm
Your hums needing tums
The Lifes crises
But not feeling
accountable the brains works
Every function ballads of love
Inside your heart diction
Like the ballad-making
Your best transformation
Orchestrated hands to lead
The musical brain
Love letters arrive on the train
So tranquil love
physical momentarily
Has a certain quality
like the ballad of love
mutiny
We find in life its a long sip
The brain wave long neck
Giraffe hot cafe
We feel everyone's tragedy
Living so high
in the (Castle) the step up
Not giving up the highness the
majesty the brain depressed
But such a parody foods for
the soul no control eating binge
You want to dodge out
But you're the musical genius
Magical brain fast and furious
Is tricky to remember you have
The talent
To be Lucky*
Fill it with love and gravity
He's the laughing stock
of the comics
Like the simple life
He's the built-in love
a ballad with such structure
The popular form of poetry
Musical notes a blend
of symmetry
Chariots of fire the key to love
Whats truly above all we need is love
He takes your breath away
Reading into the
"Britannica"
Archie comics and Veronica
Historical moments Cleopatra
The ballads of culture
Songs we remember
I love September the day I was born
Ballads and songs
"My Girl"
"Stop Look Listen to your heart"
"Love is all around"
You came to the right place
Peace and love, please
stick around we love you
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
Relaxing in the front yard
Peering up at the sky
Mesmerized by the sound of the leaves dancing in the breeze
Watching the clouds sashay by
The shapes they made entertained my cerebellum.
The warm summer sun bakes the smell of lilac into the air
My best friend relaxes beside me, mimicking my every move.
living in our minds
Not a single care
This was ours
Our moment
Our time
The grass was frigid and plush beneath our backs
The sweet breeze kissed our faces
This was one of my favorite places.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
I have died many times. My body hung next to Jesus at Golgotha. I was once decapitated in the French Revolution. I’ve had my eyes gouged out at Gettysburg.
I have died many times. My chest was riddled with bullets on the beaches of Normandy. My lungs dissolved and I had a stroke in Auschwitz. My skin baked, bubbled, and blistered from Hiroshima to Nagasaki.
I have died many times. I bled out from a ruptured heart during Columbine. On 9/11, my rib caged cracked and I even stopped breathing.
_______________________________________________________________
I have died too many times. I shot myself in the head last night. Dream-spells dripped out from the void and so I shot myself through the heart, stuck my fingers in the hole to see if it hurt and it stung a little.
I have died too many times. I took an ax and split my head open; a flock of pigeons were pecking at my cortex. They flew out and church hymns rang from my cerebellum.
I have died too many times. I lit a bonfire in my brain; the light burst from my eye sockets and now my head is a paper lantern. I clawed at my chest till I ripped my heartstrings; they sung happy birthdays in Arabic so I blew out the fire.
I have died too many times. I took a baseball bat and busted my face open; I was swinging for the fences and swallowed my teeth on accident.
I have died too many times. I tore out my stomach, drank the acid, and ****** myself. I tried pulling my lungs over my head just to suffocate.
I have died too many times. When I discovered my spinal cord, I plucked it out, wrapped it around my neck, and hung myself from the tallest redwood I could find.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
If I could pick the menu,
I'd choose a tasty appetizer of Hendrix pituitary,
& a huge salad covered with Joplin cortex.
Plant's gray matter for the main course,
sides of Jaggar & Morrison stems,
along with a bottle of Springsteen spinal fluid.
I'd definitely have to order
an ample sweet-portion
of Daltrey thalamus
& sprinkle it with some Cobain lobes.
A shot of John's cranium
with a nightcap of Townsend cerebellum
would surely hit the spot.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
This is for a girl whose name means light,
Who fights every day of her life to beat the gravity of depression,
Whose dearest pastime is turning everyone she encounters to poetry,
Who’s never stopped looking for fairies or shaking glitter over everything,
Who is tall in the flesh and tall in the heart; love overflowing,
Who aspires to be ironclad but always tender,
Who knows too much about bruised innocence and precious things ripped away,
Who can never get enough of walks in the wind and rain—all of that pulsing sensation, all of that alive-alive-alive,
Who salutes Eve each time her teeth break the skin of an apple,
Who is thoroughly in love,
Who has taught herself to bleed out with dignity,
Whose defiance could halt the turn of the earth,
Who grew up on bare feet, free will, and the softest joy imaginable,
Who would die for justice,
Whose soul is warm and messy and unfurling,
Who has a family of artists living in her head [Alcott scribbling in the cerebral cortex, Van Gogh mixing pigments near the frontal lobe, Ginsberg clacking at his typewriter beside the cerebellum],
Who dreams of avenging the marginalized,
Whose arsenal includes sturdy black boots and neon strength,
Who is ruthless yet sentimental beyond belief,
Who slipped into the world with a sweetness she’s never really lost,
Who lives like she writes like she laughs like she argues like she loves, with heat and certainty and unending vibrance.
This is for myself.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
It was social experimentation
To be locked away, windowless
Four walls, perpetually fixed
- as his figure in a lightless room
Ears removed, mouth sewn closed
Eyes blinded, no light, no sound
Muted humanity, no dignity
He happened upon a laughing child
before the procedure
and that sound echoed inside
Deep within his bowels it reverberated
Through his blood
Distorted in his stomach
Youthful innocent laugh,
it grew monstrous
It began to talk
and the beast within was personified
Day one he lost his mind
Day two was still day one
(how irresponsive time becomes)
Day three the laugh became a growl
Day four the voices started
Day five in absentia
Day six he was done
Day seven, bizarre interim
- that between life and death
Profoundly lost in swingin' psychosis
Met by the devil in detailed cerebellum
Watched memories deteriorate
like some reel-to-reel burning, spluttering
His wife now only a hydrogen hallucination
Do you, the reader, know true loneliness?
The observation deck was packed on day eight
Muted, yet guttural screams of anguish
from deep within his throat
Were haunting reminders of the damaging effect
of psychological studies and the fragility of humanity
The cataract voids in his stoic face
they betrayed fear, and begged captors
for some respite from this hellish dream
Until in a tormented blinded haze, the voice was clear
His ears still dead, though this voice was true
Spoke but three subtle words
The subject experienced simultaneous neurological
Joy and fear
He had heard the de facto vocalisation of some supreme
he spoke them aloud
his only utterance
and the teary eyed scientists gathered
sterile needle
no words
dead.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
Mental disability what an epigram, it bounds on burried complexity
Titter inside hysterical effectuation
Feeling electrical currents misfiring in my cerebellum
Screaming unremebered prayers in my night terrors at the devils fornication
Remaining in my presence, anticipating my sleep
***** to reverse the dementia
Waking day dreams, lost in unreality
Descry vociferation calling my name
Wanting to claw my etes out against nebulous shadows creeping behind
Wanting a medium to banih apparitions from my space
Paranoid of all establishment
While securing eye contact with others, they could decipher all my thoughts
With binoculars neighbors surveil
Me camouflaged with drawn shades and pale skin
To go outside summoned all my demons
Wanting to battle, rage war to fulfill some morbid desire
Annihilating hordes in my dreams by any means
***** to reverse the madness
OCD for a little control
A million times repeated thoughts flashing in my eyes
Confusion! What day is it? Am I doing something wrong?
Not glancing in mirrors hiding from myself Garbled guttural utterances in my left ear
Hot breath on my neck
Bawling at flexibility and spontaneity
Not in my scheme for the coming confusing hours
Wanting to pull my skull off exposing the insanity
Just wanted it to STOP!!
***** to reverse the derangement
Limbs not answering brain waves crisscrossed as they dwell
On a daily basis surviving hell
On a nightly basis in true hell
Needing to shriek and explode
Afraid to sleep, walking in exhausted dreams
Broken pains in my bones
No peace day or night
My medication saved my life
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
Alas, this miniscule moment of separation,
Igniting infernos of cardiac anguish,
Coursing silver slivered lightning to the cerebellum,
Shall not, sever the connection of our entanglement.
Entangled like microscopic electrons,
Bound by more than optical illusion,
Our hearts have joined for eternity,
No matter the distance in time or space,
Your heart skips a beat and I lose my breath.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
I saw you
I saw your brain spilling out its cerebellum, medulla oblongata, etc
All over- unrecognizable
indistinguishable
I saw
I thought those were some kind of pink pulses
Lord knows, weirder things have been found
and seen
I saw
I saw
I hope there is justice for you
I will pray for your soul
My soul will meet yours
when the knell rings for me
I hope you find peace
I hope you know that I called
And called and tried and tried
To help you even though you were already gone
I saw your friend- his eyes, his expression
I really did try
Please find yourself another life
I hope your friend finds peace
Knows it wasn't all his fault
I hope his eyes lose the haunted shocked expression
I really wish he can drive again
I hope he can continue working
- he looked like one of those people
you know those ones?
working hard to make it out of drudgery?
I hope he makes it through this
And I really really wish you guys hadn't had a fight before this
Find peace
Go safe
Go softly
Your death was sudden
Ripped out of this earth
Like you were never meant to exist
That was meant to be me
I hope it didn't hurt too much
And those ******** that did this to you?
I hope they didn't mean it
I wish they hadn't been high before this
Your death shouldn't be meaningless
And although
You might be simply another obituary in tomorrow's newspaper
This poem will say
*"I saw you.
I prayed for you.
I greeted you.
I witnessed your existence.
You meant something
Just as your death did.
I wish you peace and that you go
Safely, soundly
Wishing you that your loved ones
Remember you with love
And maybe some heartbreak
But they find strength.
Tonight,
I
s a w
You"*
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
Think about it,
She off-handedly remarks:
Formality is separateness
Lost in one of the nebulous folds
Of my cerebellum
I acknowledge her comment with a thousand yard stare
Eagle eyed, I surf a warm updraft
To rise above it all
But I can't slip the prison of pre-conception
Amuse me, she says.
Whisper me your pretty little lyrics,
Sing me your song
You have one of the most interesting faces I’ve ever met
I brazenly tell her, and
My minds eye is full of anticipation
I know it’s pedantic
I am not so romantic
Maybe we should not peel back the veneer, but
A peak
It’s inexplicable
Naive and unassuming, with
Bashful sincerity, and
An enduring patience
Awaken: open your eyes
The serpent goddess counsels
And you will find your way
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
He was there with
me, now he's there
with her. Or him,
them, maybe all alone.
He makes things better
by slipping endorphins and
stimulants of all different
shades down his little-boy throat.
He used to tickle my
sides and put kisses on
my shell, that held my
cerebellum in all nice and snug.
We would go no where;
Never get anything done.
We would make small
talk about growing up.
I would think about him and
think that he wasn't enough.
He was nice and gave
me all that he had got.
All of the lonesomeness, all of
the sad, all of the mad crept about.
Past my hazel irises and
began to erupt, mushing out.
Out of my ears, my pores, some right
out of my mouth. That day in March
my hypothalamus flip-flopped and
resigned from its job.
The boy who was there fell
right out of touch. An automatic
reflex kicked in quicker than
a frog catching a bug.
My legs lay criss-crossed and
bony, unshaven as I picture
him picturing his old best
friend, who he left and lost.
He day dreams of being aged and
playing Go Fish. Crackling at me
to draw, I grab his prune-textured
hand. In real life he starts to cry.
He sets down his room temperature can
of Mountain Dew. Grabs a couple of different
colored pills and goes out to party
in attempt to help him not remember.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
As He And I take a dip into each others solar eclipse
He sips from my faucet that drips
and not the one located between my thick thighs and hips
but from the truth that flows from the softness of my lips.
In that moment he Indulged in Truth's kiss.
As he was overcamed by a state of bliss.
Thats when He knew That God must Exist.
Now to him I say this.......
"Lets Go beyond Us
As I allow you Undress my Conscious
Make love to my thoughts
As you diminish my distraughts
Lick my intelligence to taste the saccharine nectar of my Essence
As I give you this mental ********
You will be headed in the right direction
And there will be no need for a ****** for our protection
Just dive into my purely unadulterated love and affection
Make your understanding stand at attention
Stick your knowledge in my head's dimension.
Giving me all its been missing
as I not only hear but Inventively listen.
Love me good and so deep
That upon me your heart begins to seap
And My my eyes begin to weap
Make my cerebellum ****** until it reaches its peak.
Keep going deeper until you hear all the words I dont speak.
Have you found the Subtance in which you seek?
See into the depths of my soul until you see A light of shimmering glittering Gold.
Touch my psyche with a gentle caress.
Until you uncover the glory of my nakedness.
now its spiritual fire burning with Red hot flames from within inscreasing my soul's desire.
I let him see the quintessential part of me that in just a short time I had courageously bared.
And He allowed me to breathe in the fresh air from his atmosphere
As I tasted his words like freshly cut herbs
And He explored all my bountiful roads to learn all my turns and curves
As he Disect my unwritten literature to understand my creative verbs.
We fly beyond the clouds like 2 lovebirds.
I have become the many pages of his diary
As he shares his most private moments between him and me so secretly.
I feel like my my world is being pulled into his force of gravity.
And yet the question I ask is,"Is he into me?"
But I can already answer that by his his energy.
While he's staring into my eyes endlessly.
My universe has been shaken by the waves of his charismatic frequency.
As we are luxuriating in our Unfiltered Raw level of Intimacy.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 9:34 AM UTC
My father
left my mother
waiting on a promise
but no more
pretty anniversary vacations
only divorce lawyers
and yelling
bitter compromises
drawing sobs from my mother
on the first Christmas Eve that you weren't here
I was eighteen when it happened
so It didn't hit me quite so hard
as my thirteen year old brother
but it did hit me
not a haymaker
but a series of sharp jabs
to the cerebellum
and it makes me mad
thinking back to all
the comparisons between us
and it makes me
absolutely ******* furious
that try as I might
I still love you
But don't call me son
because you divorced us
and I appreciate your monetary lifeboats
but I would make it without them
besides I think of it
as compensation for what you did to my head
Mother dearest's pain
flowing through open vessels
to the salt of lovers
and I've been falling in love ever since
every pretty faced girl
who ever looked as if she'd frowned
became angelic saviors
in my eyes
something to protect
and love forever
But I can't love every
cute girl I see
forever
I know that
and I love them too much to hurt them
to be honest I think you
stole the hope of me
ever understanding what real love is
I just want to save every girl
whose cheeks are scarred with forgotten tears
but I can't
so I revert to a one night stand
fueled by futility and whiskey and ****** beer
never allowing myself to give
that old poison that we like to call Love
I carry a cross
made of sins of the father
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
you are so ****** in the head.
they say "crazy can't see crazy"
but, baby, i looked you dead in the eyes,
and man, someone stirred your brain with a fork.
cerebellum penetrated by tines.
amygdala spooned into their mouths like lukewarm soup.
sliced a knife straight through your hypothalamus.
left the rest to swirl around in that thick skull of yours.
you're used goods, they told me.
you passed your expiration date.
a little too ripe around the edges.
i could see that.
you asked people to palpate your skin,
like checking cantaloupe.
you spit out your seeds in between
inhaling smoke and ******* down liquor.
she warned me that you were a wild one.
rebellion and fierce independence.
all lions and tigers and bears,
sutured together with wolfish teeth
and hyena laughter.
forever breaking out of cages
and biting the hands that fed you.
now if only you could see it too.
or if only i'd saw it earlier.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC