"chalking" poems
the mind is its own beautiful prisoner.
Mind looked long at the sticky moon
opening in dusk her new wings
then decently hanged himself,one afternoon.
The last thing he saw was you
naked amid unnaked things,
your flesh,a succinct wandlike animal,
a little strolling with the futile purr
of blood;your *** squeaked like a billiard-cue
chalking itself,as not to make an error,
with twists spontaneously methodical.
He suddenly tasted worms windows and roses
he laughed,and closed his eyes as a girl closes
her left hand upon a mirror.
45k
In the darkest umbra of a shadow
Where time and wraith like dimensions collide
Is the place you can find all man’s sorrows
And woman’s secrets they’ll never confide
In the obscurity of one’s dark gloom
In your contrasting reverse projection of self
You can envision your impending doom
Like a porcelain doll falling from the shelf
Trace the outline of your twisted dark shade
Chalking the ground where your body will be laid
Lying down, your shadow and you become one
While you lie dead under the blazing sun
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
For the first time on campus, Sisters on the Runway will strut and pose for domestic violence awareness.
Sisters on the Runway will be hosting its first annual fashion show from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. tonight in the Business Building. All proceeds will be donated to the Centre County Women's Resource Center, Layla Taremi president of the organization, said.
Sisters on the Runway is a national student-run organization that raises awareness about women and children who reside in domestic violence shelters. There are over five chapters throughout the nation, each supporting the same cause to local shelters. It was founded in 2009 and has grown since then, Taremi (sophomore-marketing) said.
Aside from the fashion show, which is the biggest fundraising event that the organization hosts, Sisters on the Runway is also responsible for other events. The organization hosts a chalking event where they write facts about domestic violence on sidewalks using chalk. This is a way for them to raise domestic violence awareness, Taremi said. It also hosts a walk where all participants walk a mile in heels for awareness.
The show will consist of eleven female models and three male models, Edie Alexander, the event planner, said.
Alexander said the show is expected to showcase clothing from Connections, Dwellings, Diamonds and Lace Bridal and Harper's, who are also their sponsors. Looks Hair Salon will be responsible for hair and makeup for the models in show, Taremi said.
"There is no theme for the show,” Taremi said. “It will be a wide spectrum of clothing."
The male models are expected to walk the runway showcasing suits and tuxedos, Taremi said. Originally the show was not going to include male models. It wasn't until the owners of Harper's decided to contribute to the show by donating some men's apparel for the fashion show.
All the models participating have been building up their confidence for the runway, Alexander (sophomore-recreation park and tourism management) said.
"I'm excited for our first annual fashion show, I hope this brings more awareness to the Penn State community," Vice President Lauren Shearer (sophomore-supply chain management) said.
The organization’s goal is to get a lot of people involved through different events to help raise awareness of domestic violence, Shearer said.
"We’re trying to push people to come, not just Penn State students, because it's not an issue that doesn't only affects college students,” Alexander said. “It affects everyone as well."Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
there was a little mouse snooker was his game
and to be a champion was is only aim
he bought himself a cue and a little case
hoping maybe oneday to be a snooker ace
he praticed day and night doing lots of shots
chalking up his cue practicing his pots
now his time had to come ready to compete
to be a snooker star and make his life complete
getting to the final he had beat the rest
now it was the time to see who would be best
mouse he was on form and used all his skill
crowd they all applauded he gave them such a thrill
in the final frame mouse took every ball
clearing the table mouse he took them all
now he was the champ he had made is name
a snooker ace forever in the hall of fame
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
We were the stars
We were the that’s not close enough
We were the dizzy spell when we’d stand up too quick
and our favorite colors were black
and really black
We were the spectrum
We were the prom queen and that guy
We were the that guy is in over his head
We were the balance
We were the tightrope walkers
We were the side walk chalkers
chalking up rain checks and forget me nots
We were the discovery channel
We were the sand between our toes
We were the nose goes
playing finger paints on our hearts
We were the hearts
We were the drums
We were the rat ta tat tat
tickling tattoos on our souls
We were the jazz
We were the good fight
We were the fighter and the lover
but I was neither
We were the my girlfriend will kick your ***
We were the first kiss
We were the forefront
and the afterthought
We were the only thought
We were the world
We were the Garden of the Gods
in Colorado
We were the devil
and we didn’t give a ****
We were the levee overflowing
We were the swim
We were the run through the rain with shoes on our hands
We were the last dance handstands
We were the final countdown
We were the 80’s hairband
We were the rock concert
We were the star spangled banner
We were the left hand of Jimi Hendrix
and his guitar strings
We were the good taste in music
We were the bad taste in our mouths
We were the learn to love and be loved in return
We were the optimist in a depression
We were the depression in art
We were the beauty
We were the science teacher that found proof of God
We were the proof of God
We were the class
We were the past
We were the past
We were the past
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
my blue bones are wit
and it means less to keep things
and nothing is quiet.
we rely on knit springs and
disingenuous
copilots.
we're prone to the oath
of our fears
suckling the dent in our collective breast.
nursing the suffering
of our sharp pillows
and the terrors of our happiness, windswept.
we cherish the swamp-sweat
of outlines...
chalking the missing
body.
instead of dem crocodiles, we have golden calf-fish
slaughtered on the lawn
of our untarnished rush...
prospecting -
and jumping the claim
to our gummi
worm.
we tumble in tandem,
and massively mismanage our enchantments.
my bones are blue
wit
and it means less
to have at
it.
we jab Stats and lack Data, but clap atoms
to a mad hatter.
we raid the pantry of our miffed ladder
against the side of
a barn
gone.
leaning in the twilight of
our genuine
sun.
surly pixies in the black sugar, kinking the last nerve of our entropy.
dem crocodiles, grinning rigid menace
in the murk... instead of dem -
let us first disperse
where the hurt, hurts; and be first
to do less worse than
a farcry
or an up-close
word
a tad mean. lets collapse things
that expand, burning all this,
instead of dem
secrets...
un-ghouling the riddle of our dead wait
in the infinite room next to the room
with the last view
of a naked
girl.
where the world is this world. and we're on it.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
The lines on her flesh
The slightly closing eyes
The breath
Just barely
Everyday I'd wait for you at the top of the stairs
Hiding in the shadows as the morning glare peeked through
Shining on the boxes that I had stacked up in the night
While I gnawed on my hunger
You'd come up for several minutes
Whisper to me in our stolen time
Let me smell you all over in brief embraces
And then leave
Moments in the breaks of my lightwatch
Nights and the descent of the wolves on the hunt
The scent of dusk and the ever blinking stars
And the creaking of bicycles treading through the woods
I'd look you all over in the darkness of the moon
Taste the weariness through the souls in our eyes
Mildew and the chirps of homecoming birds
Warming our bodies in unison
The whips of sunshine would come again
We'd scramble away from each other
Dislodging our joints and other such things
Tightening the knots
Every fragment I'd wait for your silhouette
Luminance granting me brief glimpses
Drawn through the curtains of prying eyes
And the numerous opuses creasing our hearts
The dots of Orion in the amber snow
Greeting our hands and chalking the rain
Pyres of pain make the distances scarce
And burrowing in my chest we'd sit
Burning in the ashes of twilight.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 3:51 AM UTC
A wind screams through crepuscular fingers
of white trees
chalking cryptic graffiti over flaking paint
lacquered
by the spray of waves breaking
the shoal
spits pebbles against grimy windows.
The door latches -- front and back -- rattle
the whey-faced man
sandblasts his warm and whisky breath
against the glass
over his victims’ desperate little handprints
dappled in red
sand whispers from within the basement.
The house moans.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
Sweet Yesteryears’
A sound from the radio taps at her ear
And brings back a memory from sweet yesteryear
A smile tugs her lips as she goes down that path
To days of a childhood where hearts seemed to laugh!
Back home in her garden with all of the clan
Knees bruised from scrumping the fruits of the land
Clothes worn and tatty but nobody cared
As laughter was plenty in the house which they shared!
They all made their pastimes with games which were free
Conkers on strings also climbing the trees
Chalking on pavements to play some hopscotch
All was unruly but they felt like top-notch!
A sound from the radio beckons once more
Closing the gate tight from this magnificent tour
Sweet yesteryears‘ over but will never depart
So unwrap it real careful to spread light on your dark!
© By LynnKaren
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 5:31 AM UTC
“Can you hear me?” “Can you hear me?” …. “Come-in”
Boys with “walkie-talkies”, walking and talking, squealing and squawking
The girls were chalking – on the sidewalk
Range, one quarter mile. More over water, the box said
If all you hear is static
Run some wire in your attic
Or tie it to your gutter
“Can you hear me?” You may utter
Copper wire strung on a fence
For Russian signals the pretense
Every beep, buzz and whistle
Was that to do with someone’s missile?
A weather fax for steaming ships, “doodle doodle” sound
Deadly tips!
Vacuum tubes soft-lit for me
RCA, Westinghouse, and GE
Their glow-warm magic casting a spell
A hook set lightly - I could not tell
Gizmos, and gadgets, in crate after crate
Rolled into the business - helped shape my fate
War surplus it was, "truck's in" they would holler
Purchased for two-bits on the dollar
So thank you Dad – the hook you set
grew into a job, my needs were met
A needed change, a needed change
Courtesy, Machinery Exchange
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
The agenda in what crime might take place
It sounds more like substance taking up space
The chalk on the blackboard written with the plan
It’s just a matter of time
This is no time to be kind
Calculations with defined precision
The motto is the key in decision
The crime trail wrote out in black and white
The chalking tail of a safe and a bank being for the taking right
The mystery behind why the crime is being committed
The Villain’s names are being omitted
No need to tell
It’s all in a matter of time when the stroke of midnight strikes with the ringing of the bell
A crime that was supposed to start, but never did complete
Behind is all was no courage, but plenty of deceit
The crime that came with defeat
The Villains were caught before the crime was even done
Too bad all crimes don’t end like this being the headline of “Hit into Miss”
The Blackboard turning crime into a twist
Jun 30, 2020
Jun 30, 2020 at 4:03 PM UTC
run revel, run **** and run riot
after the work week
thirsty work
hashed together venges
and business pleasures exceed
to mature into vigorous crime
with the rights
this fit night have given
the office population clamber up their fears
and violently
cram their senses
fist feast your mouther
raw-torn with surplus
a Wendigo playground
go beast upon this crown
this fawn
this chalking morgue
- a bellyful
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 12:18 AM UTC
Fresh air hitting newborn lungs
lodged in a memory
made of mealworms.
Chalking dirt between
serrated incisors.
The day I asked a new girl to be my girlfriend
you left a note at my house signed "love,"
telling me you were infinitely sorry.
Some things just don't have an explanation.
There is a knife in my throat
chalking chords between scratched teeth,
words ground down to chunks of flesh,
they never last,
taste like the last
of something we had.
When I kissed your face
in my bedroom
there was no golden crust of light
you gave me head
and I didn't ***
over the next year I fell in love
it tasted
like blood in my mouth
there is a knife
in my throat,
you placed it delicately
as if you'd be back
to pull it out
with hands still warm
from
spreading another's pulse
and stroking down the center
with one finger.
I said all the words I knew
hoping you'd hear some you liked,
I made a collage of spittle
and stringy voice box
from my insides you didn't come back
so your note
is noted but there is no "us" curled up
in grand central station,
no eyes glowing,
and there is nothing left to say, but
it hurt in a way I was not ready to know
and came
from a direction
I had never believed in.
Thanks for the golden days,
most of them were,
i'm sorry I crumpled so easily
I don't think i'll ever be the same,
that's a good thing
but you had to know you had to know
what I didn't
and someday you'll grow up,
it'll hurt,
it's worth it.
But goodbye meant goodbye.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
mothers innocent of crow chalking about in white grass. fathers, guilty and gospel. gardens
and pocket deer. my sister has a stone, one cheekbone, and a kite. how you are seeing
that stone, let me this- it is not god’s tear, tooth, godcrumb. nor is it madly
a raindrop. she loves it she says for its milk. but she’s 12. digs
in the night
at her ear.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 11:25 AM UTC
I am not a perfect daughter
I'm sure you agree
Your temper is hotter
I'm the reason frequently
Telling you it is only in your brain
You have a meltdown
Upset
Chalking worry up to being insane
Not what you deserve to get
Going to be an improved child
I'm completely grown
Easy to provoke and wild
Still the sweet baby you've always known
Now I am telling you I'm sorry
For excessive bitchiness and tears
Blaming you when it was me
Causing half the problems through the years
It is not easy to admit I'm wrong
Doesn't mean that you are right
It takes two to get along
Like it does to fight
It is going to take determination from both of us
It will be worth the patience to try
Maybe peace we longingly discuss
Will be reality for you and I
I cannot change this on my own
Wish you would meet me halfway
Once in awhile just leave it alone
On subjects you feel you must put in your say
You want what's best for me
Hurt because you care
One thing I've been itching to let free
"Thank you" for being there
Regardless of what flaws come between
Relationship has withstood them all
Though at times you can act mean
Petty quarrels usually stay small
So this is a token of my hidden gratitude
To show how you mean so much
Also an apology for being rude
Not keeping in proper touch
No matter how drastic our ups and downs
The thing that will not ever change
That you'll always be around
Arms open to me despite how strange
I often take that for granted
Focus on bad stuff you've done
Of all the occasions I've ranted
Not once did I mention the depth of your love
The countless sacrifices you willingly made
In order for me to do well
How my hair you'd affectionately braid
Somehow I left out of the stories I'd tell
So it is written (here in purple ink no less)
Save as proof of what's in my heart
Next time it will remind us when in distress
What is important when falling apart
Forgive me for pain I've inflicted
Lies and each mess my hand makes
Know my actions have left you afflicted
I swear I'll make up for all the mistakes
May 13, 2020
May 13, 2020 at 8:33 PM UTC
What is it she whispers?
Outside..
The brittle bleach decor rustles shy applause
Inside….
half encumbered slumber wins
The aching World to part made play
Arcadian chapels hover in folds
That form in the fields of gathering grey
and still she whispers.
Damp calico dales murmur and shift
in the twist of a tremor.
A cold palm press upon temples that pulse
for the touch of another that passes
high over the way…
What is it, she whispers?
Witch-fingers lift at the filigree latches,
saltwater patches salivate free…..
..lasciviously.
beneath the list of chalking blinds
rim- shot eyes scour windswept causeways
Always searching,
Always waiting,
For some unknown.
And still she whispers...
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Thirteen long years spent under his thumb. Sixteen years old is when this begun.
I thought I was in love , now I know I should have left after the first shove.
I stayed instead, chalking it up as one too many drinks,. Time went on only getting worse, as I got pregnant with his child. The control he had over me was more than mild. It was a push and a shove pulling my hair but worse than that was the emotional abuse he just didn't care.
The longer I stayed the worse it got , now there was another life I had to protect.
My story goes on for around 10 more years , another baby with him and many hidden tears .
Please don't judge others by what you may see because behind those closed doors is a scarred and scorn woman that wants to be free .
Free from the abuse she gets everyday the threats of him taking her life away . The fear of what would happen to her children if he snapped and did what he said, The fear she feels laying beside a monster in her bed, the fear that her children will grow up to believe that abuse is ok because that's all they see ,
So this is a sickness a disease, to treat any human so inhumane,
I don't look for pitty but hope someone out there reads this and it changes their life. You see , I am not a Victom but I am a true Survivor of Domestic Violence you may not be as lucky as me if you stay I promise you you don't have to do anything else just get away .
© kimmied 1105
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
Devils of saintly virtues?
Or a saint of sin?
Who is evil or good?
Who bestowed such titles?
A boisterous ***** baron?
Ordained by dour dukes?
Spilled blood to pave a road?
Does your honor sunder and erode?
Was it virtuous to shove innocents?
To put them under lock and key?
Saintly, to make them fear?
Courage, to turn a blind eye?
Is it a sin to feed the starving enemy?
A devil to help a dying foreigner breath?
Bereave their suffering?
To feel guilt when malnourished prisoners beg for feed?
What makes you so noble?
Foible flags, and an adorable mantra?
A little training makes it right?
Maybe you know it does not,
Paving roads with bones and blood?
Did you join to fire a gun?
To retrieve bullets from inside of someone?
To stand for your flag and defend?
Does a medal wash away those sins?
All forgiven because you won?
Bombs dropped and humanity undone,
Another chapter in the book of justification,
Titled, ‘War is Hell’
The history of death, peace unsung,
Souls seized, leaders appeased,
From rot, money and disease,
Waiting for battle under south side trees,
What makes you better then them?
Education? A uniform?
Signing your life away to conform?
What if your not as noble as you seem?
Noble intentions in a hellish scene,
In total might, what if neither is right?
A hired killer of a higher power,
Atrocities in the name of swell intentions,
Killing for Lord Benton, or General Jenkins,
Does what you read make you mad?
Or sad?
Will war ravished ruffians take pity?
Is it wrong if they slaughter and **** your life?
Everyone in it?
Will your god founded, blessed flag save you?
Maybe they are right,
After all,
You did it to them first,
Suddenly it’s wrong? No chalking up to war is hell?
Maybe you’re lost,
Maybe notches on your gun makes you proud of past,
Maybe feel lied to, in a cloud,
Or maybe you’re a demonic psychopath,
The history of Saints is usually tattered with sin,
Passing volatile judgements upon men,
Devils usually do what they are asked,
Whether or not it should come to pass,
After all,
It was conflict that caused Edens fall,
Do you care if you’re right or wrong?
You, mercenary of the flag?
When is wrong, right?
Right, wrong?
Call you hero and sing your song,
Will history see it like you?
After all,
Stonewall made innocent civilians fall,
Regarded hero,
Instructed by a drunk,
Who are you?
What makes you so great?
Why are you right?
Why are you wrong?
In the end, I don’t care if you think,
Or ask yourself stated questions,
That’s not my biz,
Simply put...
It is what it is..
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
The religious chalking of the hands,
The tightening of the thick nylon straps,
Headphones are placed and primed,
Now time begins to lapse.
His mind's eye recites what now must be completed,
Claiming a bench, he sits, he waits, he breathes,
He grasps the ice cold steel and tightens his grip,
Lifting, striving for ten, he pushes, he believes.
The loud clink clinking of solid metal plates,
The sound of great efforts fill the room,
Sweat and tears begin to flow,
Working hard the muscles engage and begin to bloom.
Set after set he keeps pushing forward,
Digging deep into his soul for his much-needed strength,
Tunnel-visioned now as he drives and drives,
Working for that last rep, his arms raising, still at full length.
An hour or more passes and the session draws to a close,
Crunching his abs, he works as the pain stabs into him like a knife,
He knows it's doing him good, it's his mindfulness, it's his time,
He will be back tomorrow for another round because after all, training is life.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
Jeanette looked
back at me in class
I was at the back
with Reynard
focusing
on the history lesson
as best we could
the text books open
before us
some colour picture
of a cave man
with a spear
and dressed in fur
and some cave girl
standing beside
looking **** ugly
Reynard said
in whispered breath
Jeanette’s eyes
were focused on me
dark looking
her hair long
and dark
thin hands
and frame
she looked away again
her narrow shoulders
full to view
the teacher
was chalking words
upon the board
sentence
after sentence
in a measured script
I thought about
the quick peck
on Jeanette's cheek
at lunch recess
just so
quick in and out
before she had time
to say or breathe
or feel the affects
to make her swoon
or sick or both
I scribbled
on the exercise page
in untidy scrawl
Reynard muttering
comments
about the cave girl's ****
about hair
under her arms
but I was focused
on Jeanette’s line
of curve
the way her
narrow waist
went in and out
so narrow
I’d get my arms
all about
dark hair
on her shoulders
smooth
well brushed
or combed
the head
at an angle
as if to scrutinize
the writing
on the board
take in the words
and sense
and write it down
in her (I imagined
far finer hand
than mine
going by the smooth
movement
of her fingers and pen)
maybe I could
kiss her again
I thought
some place
some when.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
I sidewalk-chalked the Devil incarnate
while my childhood innocence slept soundly.
It was at midnight
underneath the sterile galaxies and omnipresent suns,
behind the home of our opalescent father,
who only existed in just the right light,
just the right situation.
As I drew faster, my tears froze, fell,
and encased my sinful artwork in ripple lined glass,
a window into a lifetime skinned clean of happiness.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
You couldn't wash the blood away
Running to the sink
But the well ran dry
Pulling apart your skin
Trying to hide
The crime that you committed
Alone in the dark
Chalking up all the silly remarks
Staining your soul
Along with your shirt
You had no idea you could cause this kind of hurt
But the point wasn't to cover the sin
The point was to live in it
To breath it all in
Suddenly the sin is you and you are it
And the blood on your hands was simply a hint
At what you truly are
A little old flame
Sitting alone
eating hearts
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 6:46 PM UTC
Imprisoned.
Captured.
Nowhere to hide.
Lonely, creeping dangerously close to sanity.
Imprisoned in my death like a ***** sheet.
Stranded and abandoned in the solitaire of life.
Why do we sit here and hurt each other?
Why stand in dirt and speak of mud?
Impostors slandering their good names with faeces.
Dribbling lunatics on edge, mimicking normality.
Let me dive into the water.
Let the water cleanse me.
I wait there.
I cringe.
Vampires of dying myths float with self.
Helpless in the skin, helpless in the mind.
Wounded chaos dripping in exclusionary
streets of pretense and disillusionment.
I see into myself.
Marooned in a chalking of deceit.
You lied to me, I lied to you.
Everybody lies and denies.
We are collected together in
the aquarium of our silence.
I sleep.
I awake.
I open and close my eyes in the screaming
stupidity of hoping to wake up tomorrow.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 5:25 PM UTC
Psalm 14 vs. 1-7 ' The fool has said in his heart there is no God '
' Crown him with many Crowns the lamb upon his throne , hark all the heavenly music drowns all music but it's own '.
" Banished to earth now what ?
Ah Gods blessed created ones
Did God really say that ? '.
A thud as fruit from the mans hand suddenly falls to earth ,
Oh cheribim and flaming sword thunder hail and rain .
AD 34
" All. Hail King of the Jews , ''. as The light of the world is slain ,
Lamb of God oh Holy one blessed be thy name .
On a Holy hill death stands still
a curtain torn in two ,
as darkness fell , no more hell and life is born anew .
A gardener who had broken bread , crushed satans head to all who will believe .
Yet man still mocks , time has cast Gods word upon a shelf ,
stacked with books of Peter Pan , with Idols made of gold .
Nailed down on war chalking plinths
Made from nicotine tar and soot .
Forged in bronze , coloured by money , wealth and power.
Yet to the faithful few who gather in pews , every Sunday morn ,
Dawn awakes , heavens gates and with the Angels start to sing praises to
Their Savior King oh hail redeemer King for he has died for me thy praise
Shall never fail throughout eternity ..
God Bless
Jude v 24.x
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC
With each breath,
the words we left erupt into contingency
clever quips afford an inference sold, stark in it's consistency.
If ever I was taught a thrift aligning threads along a canvas.
Head to toe, snake oil or poison, chalking up life's mysteries
The needle treads along indifferent rhythms
often missed in lieu of lecture
lifted structure, painted fracture
vivid summer, lazy *******
lay the meaning on at will along alliterated thrill
fulfill the seam content to spill
to drill the point in that much faster.
tears of sadness
tears of laughter
so..
______________________________________________________
Why does it work
to levy silence or flirt
to learn a line of some actress
or divide up the earth
assert a picture infatuated with prying for worth
when it ain't there.
"I don't care,
I ain't tryna get hurt."
Have a word, agg a bird on, classic
campaign
who's drinking champagne,
who's getting turned on
Choose a new frame for the tragic.
Are we laying the groove
or are we playing in traffic.
No spoilers.
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 6:58 PM UTC