"curbed" poems
At the back of the noisy cafe
bent over a table sits an old man;
a newspaper in front of him, without company.
And in the scorn of his miserable old age
he ponders how little he enjoyed the years
when he had strength, and the power of the word, and good looks.
He knows he has aged much; he feels it, he sees it.
And yet the time he was young seems
like yesterday. How short a time, how short a time.
And he ponders how Prudence deceived him;
and how he always trusted her -- what a folly! --
that liar who said: "Tomorrow. There is ample time."
He remembers the impulses he curbed; and how much
joy he sacrificed. Every lost chance
now mocks his senseless wisdom.
...But from so much thinking and remembering
the old man gets dizzy. And falls asleep
bent over the cafe table.
8k
In the name of democracy
An entire state is terrorized
Decade after decade
Freedoms are curbed
Protests are brutally suppressed
People are brutally oppressed
Education is diluted
In the name of democracy
The Army turns from protector to oppressor
Every soldier marching past
With his head held high
Sounds the death knell
For every man, woman and child
In the name of democracy
Soldiers break into houses
Wielding their massive rifles
As if it is their birthright
As the peace and harmony within
Is replaced by abject terror
In the name of democracy
All morals are flung out of the window
As the women are *****
The men who challenge this unspeakable atrocity
Are swiftly silenced with bullets
As the children begin screaming in terror
They are molested, one by one
Until the trauma overcomes them
Such that, they lose their voices
They lose their minds
They lose their hearts
Meanwhile, the soldiers slip away quietly
Having completed a good day of work
In the name of democracy
In the name of democracy
India and Pakistan, warring for decades
Use Kashmir as a bait
As a means to satisfy
Their unquenchable thirst for power
As the potion simmers on
Fuelled by hate on both sides
Curfews and lockdowns follow with alarming regularity
Schools and colleges are shut down
Political organizations are banned
The Internet is crippled
Mobiles and landlines are killed
Even the most feeble of all protests
Is brutally quelled with bullets and grenades
In the name of democracy
Consent is dead and buried
As nationalism takes centre stage
The world watches on silently
Allowing India, the oppressors-in-chief
To reclaim the moral high ground
And suddenly proclaim themselves as saviours
Leaving the beleaguered Kashmiris no choice
But to bow to their captors
Their dreams of self-determination
Shattered ruthlessly in the course of a mad, mad day
In the name of democracy
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 1:18 PM UTC
I wish I never met you. Not out of hate but out of love.
I wish you never showed me how it was to be happy.
Because now that you're not here... Alone to myself and my emptiness,
an absence so deep it crushes me breathless.
A love unfinished unappreciated undiscovered utterly uprooted.
Without you I'm unloved.
Without.
Just me.
Emptiness curbed by the hope you're still waiting for me.
Waiting upstairs - waiting,
calling for me to come to bed.
I long for that again.
The need for a connection ... to you, to myself.
A purpose to exist and care.
When its just me in a room within, there is too much space.
Just empty closets of your memories.
Loaded gun of emotion with no target.
Bound and compressed to dust.
A diamond will arise from the ashes but not for you.
Never again will I let you inside my expanse.
Just to hurt me and watch me bleed.
When you were in pain, my shoulder is where you lay.
When you were happy, my eyes were your gaze.
When you were in love, my chest your head fell.
When you were lost, my heart you stayed.
Now all that remains.
When you pushed me away, beside you I stayed.
Forever I could have been there, stepping through the mud.
No hope, no love, no mud, no longer.
Pain is double edged like your two faces.
With one comes the other.
One I never thought existed.
One I never thought I'd see.
One I can't let go of and dispel.
One - a memory that deforms my existence.
Understanding chaos is a never ending deployment.
Lonely and expressionless with
No muse for my fingers.
No figure of beauty to adore endlessly.
Trapped now within my prison of passion.
A vessel to pour my unbound passion.
An unlikely companion stifled immature and premature.
Incapable, incompatible - irresistible.
An unlikely companion clearly conceptual.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
Growth, empowerment, love.
Words of our generation,
Words we can't get rid off.
Should we try to? No.
Look within,
Feel your heart grow.
Love yourself, it's deserved.
No matter what anyone says,
It should not be curbed.
Hate, oppression. It is all rife.
My dear one, don't forget,
You get to live your best life.
If people turn and say nay,
Don't panic, do not worry,
I promise, they're not here to stay.
Growth, empowerment, love.
All treasured things,
That you can be proud of.
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 6:05 PM UTC
I cannot be curbed, I cannot be tamed,
I cannot adopt moderation, or restraint.
My appetites are rampant,
And my passions wreak havoc like a violent summer storm.
Do not try to temper my lusts, or divert my inclinations,
For you will fail.
I will not have it said, that I merely existed.
Life is delicious, love is everything,
Why would you seek, therefore, to dampen your desires?
There is much to adore, there is much to abhor,
And I would not have it any other way.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
Looking out of the window;
a ribbon of duck-egg-blue sky,
fringed by the sun's late light,
is sandwiched by grey cumulus.
It frames Sycamore tree tops,
red tiled pyramids with their expectant aerials
pointing West, littering clean lines.
It is a mute view;
serried bins wait for the mornings collection,
cars sit dumb, curbed,
their daily commute completed.
Two starlings flit, silent,
and in the far distance a high contrail is picked out
in gold as a thread in blue silk.
For five years this view remains changeably the same;
unspoilt by the entropy of new perspectives.
This is the summer of un-broadcast malcontents,
pacified in Brazilian spectacle. Days simmer here and there.
Soap operas filter through,
made to massage the message
of consume and discard, of holidays and pistons.
And in the mornings, that never come,
we abandon the cars that cannot diverge
from work-honed routes,
taking to the air from Sycamores as Starlings.
June 2014
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
Hitting me, anger assuming it's
common place, during such
arguments of hate and jealousy
it can be seen in your eyes and
through every vein, that pulsates
through your body, back at me
red and igniting, your body it's
own temple of fire and petrol gas
thrown on by my ever answering
back voice, later silenced.
*My only means of pacifying
you, is to pull you close as
rough as you drag me,
to the floor, kiss you and
allow you to **** me, forcing
all your weight upon, this now
fragile pale skinned girl, as no
light has crossed her bruised
face in so many days, food is
a weakness, her work her, salvation.*
Submissive, I divide you in to
two separate entities, the good of
you, shows affection like no other
passion and commitment, flowers
show up at work, rings, bracelets,
gifts to appease my beaten self
making me, again, yours, again
**** me, it keeps the monster in
you, at bay, controlled I beg for
more, you liked it that way.
*The power, it curbed the anger, curbed my, anxiety and fear of the
unknown, never able to control
the relentless moods demons that
raged through you each and every
moment, you looked me in the eyes
hatred or love, baby blue eyes you
would smile, baby blue eyes you
would swear, voice getting louder
walls broken, face smashed in.*
How I left you, I will never know
only now do I see, nothing I did
or could have done, would change
what you did to me those days and
nights, of pain and torture, ****
me, maybe it was deserved or
maybe I made it that way to appease
him, even myself, but I ask what
would a real man have done?
answer, not that, right?
© Sia Jane
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
It has been almost 7 years since
We first spoke,
And your *** and coke has loosened your tongue.
"It is not your fault that I'm
in love with you,"
you said,
"I'm just an idiot, for letting it go
so far."
Like when, at 3am, you phoned from across the ocean,
Because you felt that something was wrong,
And the pills stacked up on my desk stayed there,
Useless.
I'm sure that that was careless of you, too.
If I had known I would have curbed it,
Because I know that
unrequited love feels like a
punch to the gut,
And you've saved me enough times that
I owe you in return.
But, as confessions pour from your alcoholic lips,
I freeze.
I'm not sure what comfort I can be, when
The word 'friendzone' has
left your mouth so often
That I sometimes think
you're the
enemy.
Now we are here,
And I keep expecting your finger
To send the blame my way.
Please don't be that guy
(I wouldn't be alive without you.)
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
i find it strange to be politically correct,
without actually exercising any political
career-motive as a member of a government...
because that's what's we're being sold:
to be politically correct, without a career in
politics. doubly strange, to foster non-antagonising
views on everyday matters,
to later realise that whoever we're antagonising
from an environmental bias (rather than
a personal bias) we will never share a dinner with...
so like our opinions mattering in the first place
was by-and-large, just a media hoax to
ensure we were all prescribed the safety of
walking the tight-rope... and never really
designating ourselves the freedom of the constitutional
rights - this leftist bias remains intact,
on the canvas of freedom of speech, however
that freedom allows us to see rural endeavours in talk,
the once appreciated freedom is becoming a polarised
freedom to name & shame... a media hammer or nail...
because it's only freedom when enough people
agree with "us", to allow a bicep expression of
being backed up like some Spartacus...
i mean, i don't agree with most expression,
but i wouldn't **** the hornet's nest with the media
frenzy to appear politically correct... when
so few of us actually have any political power....
being sold free speech, to be later curbed with
political correctness is a bit cancerous....
given that free speech is equated to the voting X
from the age of mass illiteracy...
i don't see how free speech became a vehicle for
acquiring constrained speech dynamic -
when did we forget the chastity of speaking the airy-fairy
things in life on the informal basis, and when did we
become so ****** friendless, estranged, outsiders
to everything that matters... and now, supposedly
between butcher and greengrocer, talking about
the weather in cocktail smocking and bow-tie?
free speech gave us the rights to not ask for political powers...
on whatever governmental tier...
prescribing us political correctness has given the everyday
John the delusion that he can process political power...
the once famous strive for speaking what the hell you want
but not wanting political power changed into
being prescribed political correctness but no political power...
so i ask you... what's the point of being politically
correct, if you gain no political power,
unless you're a rat, a snitch, spying on your neighbour
to grass them out? because that's what political correctness bred,
snitches... those given political correctness laws
were never given any other political power...
added to the fact that they wouldn't have said anything
interesting / provocative anyway.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
Oleander
Melanie S. Moorman, 2/3/15
Such beautiful pain
Such largeness and gain
Hardened by walls
Built up time & time again
White scented petals
Fill the air - so smooth
Fragrantly wafting -
Singing to the Moon
Lovelorn and tired
She's dressed but uninspired
Her mood changes
But her song is the same
Will you come out tonight?
He says with a longing
Will you put on that dress?
A place your body belongs in
She smiles seductively
He knows what that means
His desire shall be curbed
By a meandering dream
Playfully she calls
But he hears - not too well
Lost in his fears
Where his love for her dwells.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC
In the confines of the house's backyard
there are no marked graves at all to see
but an attempt will be made by this bard
to relate according to personal memory
of some creatures buried therein to be.
Over the course of many years gone by
various creatures have been laid to rest
in the soil of the yard's ground to comply
with an improvised simple funeral blest
by a short little prayer to end their quest.
There were a couple of cats it is recalled
one of them was within the property born
though with the other memory has stalled
which is not surprising and hardly forlorn
to blame or point at with a finger of scorn.
Then there were also a few local birds
mainly sparrows that were regularly fed
which flew all around and dropped turds
being a little distressing to find any dead
some due to after eating crumbs of bread.
They were preyed upon by neighbors' cats
and left for dead when they were disturbed
in their instinctual appetite that included rats
when by humankind were scared and curbed
due to their wild nature's feast so perturbed.
Then on occasion also mice would run free
which were seen coming through the fence
and when at times chased scurried up a tree
where they would hurry to get away thence
a similar burial applied if found dead hence.
It'd be so incomplete here not to mention
all those spiders and insects that had died
in some way or other due to a pretension
that their annoying habitual nature implied
to be poisoned or squashed in their stride.
They have all been buried in the backyard
in various places there that are not marked
laid to rest in the ground either soft or hard
under where others had roamed and barked
in the distant past after they were all carked.
________________
Mar 19, 2022
Mar 19, 2022 at 6:57 AM UTC
there remains a stirring pang
churning around within
a soothing ache invigorates
an insatiable, yet suppressed ,
untamed appetite
a gnawing hunger craving
never curbed ,
abiding a leaching aloneness
that piercingly tingles inwardly
veritably suppressed fever
burns out of control
like a tameless wildfire ;
flames fanned
by the feral forces of nature
reviving
an intimately passionate
verve
~
© wild is the wind
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC
I settle for your declination of devotion in the fall
because I remember all of your sweet summer promises.
The same promises you'd whisper in my ear after a
lackadaisical day spent between the love-stained cotton sheets.
Maybe it's the promises you'd imprint on my skin
through the twists and turns of your docile fingers;
seemingly writing every pinky swear in fluent body language.
I can't forget the promises you'd feed me during our candlelit dinners in the city;
the ones that curbed my heart's appetite for the duration of a 3-course meal.
But the promises I remember most are the same ones
that have my soul avoiding slumber during these sinful hours.
The promises of this time being everything our past was not;
the promises you swore you'd keep.
All of those broken summer promises that you promised me.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
Iodine damnation cleanses Alice--rock-and-roll medusa
alone in the field,
she waits for the flies to eat the spider
--the third testament of law
divinely christened as low as $19.95.
Hell is where
Schrodinger throws the bodies. Revived Alice is in a burlap sack
embedded in the cubbyhole
of a mortal anthro-rubix,
the small garnishes that spot livers during cancer.
"Hello and welcome
to the resting place of all Blues songs."
speaks the curbed lips of Gluttony. A name that vomits
up rebellion, like cleansing the glucose off
fish-cleaning tables.
Alice touches her eyes rolls them
--fortunate galleries,
broods deeply on the jaws of her receptors.
"After the last drop, the hard boiled spoil
and the cats won't eat 'em. Neither will I," Gluttony spews, "You all show up
as do I, magnifying the cruelty of digging,
digging,
digging
that follows me and you to the bitter stem
and rough petal--throwing this rose,
that rose,
here and there inside the carcass of lust.
The scalding photograph of a guerrilla war playground
hangs over
the mantle of a prideful garden.
"Pulp wisdom
looking back at the names of thieves/murderers
of simple thought
over-turning scars of fallacy
in that garden.
"Picking,
picking,
picking out the best arrangement
so it doesn't look like I went
through a drive-thru
for what to say. 'Hey.'
'Yes?'
'I love you.'
'You too.'
Something in between
what you, I, and the others were looking for
has uprooted bushes--the tilled chest of my sister
and lover--disarrayed, dirt thrown
to the side.
Fibonacci colors patterned
across the moist earth
to distract you and I, all from the dread, and all
the relief
of ripping apart the white, pink, black, and red."
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
Reservations wreck havoc on play things that believe that
Life is but a game
For there are greater powers around here
Cracks crease with an ease that seems surreal
But is very very real
Unfortunate sub-ordinates that smoke cigars as if they
Will never die
That they are immune to the illusion of man
Pages burn while buildings yearn
To take more lives slower and slower and slower
Friends were fiends before I got to them
Now they are friends who may seem fiends
Somedays
And friends of friends
Along the other ones
I'm sure they all do the same
Because thought is a wanderer which lingers
Smokes a cigarette
And flicks its ash on every corner of the brain
Making the membrane
Nothing but a litter box where felines deficate in
Corner curbed with the red lights always on
Remember when you wrote me that song?
An' right when you were about to sing
And I wished it and wished it and wished it
You said to me
"That is why I can't do in with it"
That is why you couldn't do in with it
You picked up your things
And walked on day the hall
Heart wood beating
In a crawl
I had no one
And neither
In the end
Do we all
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 9:29 PM UTC
I'm glad that they don't see me much,
'cause they'd blame me for all the sins.
I healed a man with single touch;
They called me witch forever since.
They don't remember countless times
when they got help with no payback.
They hate me after — mind you — once
I forced a man out of my shack
and he went missing. Folks assumed
that witch's the perfect one to blame.
I clearly pictured me entombed
as they were screaming like insane
to **** me, break my house down.
As if that drunckard on his pat
could not get lost in swamp and drown
while running scared by a bat.
Whole town is against me now.
Whole but a lonely little maid.
I think for that i shall endow
her, if she's not afraid.
I'll grant her powers I possess,
No secrets I will left consealed,
She will control this evil place
And hopefully, it will be healed.
Those people's hatred gave a birth
to evil essense in this land.
Without my kin it will unearth,
Against its wrath they won't withstand...
But I will leave this cursed lands.
I'll be accused for curse as well,
as noone here understands:
I did not cast, I curbed that spell...
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
Zero is not an absolute.
I have seen worlds open inside her circular form--
the expansion and contraction of edges, curved
longings curbed: suppressed then exposed--
everything we've wished for in our beds.
Zero has infinite chance--
ringed and rung out-- sung and restrung
her points connected positive and negative glued and preserved
presorted for our convenience.
There is nothing convenient in the sputter of our silences
we spit and bite, tender nothing
solicitous starvation.
Our sympathetic matter of course.
Zero is not nothing.
She's bigger than comprehension--
compensation
and competition
Zero teaches us:
What alone could be
If we alone, weren't one.
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 6:03 PM UTC
Deep breaths, shallow steps
far from the nest,
thoughts squeezed dry in the press.
Tired with rash,
I've stained my sash,
curbed here like sun-baked trash.
Longing for stars,
head dizzy from bars
This alien's homesick for Mars.
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 10:06 AM UTC
The lane is light-less tonight;
But I’m not unduly perturbed,
For there is still enough sight
In my fancy not to be curbed
By a solitary lamp
Who was forced into silence.
© LazharBouazzi, October 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
On the fourth night of this sweet summer month
When I first looked into your pleasing eyes
I read a message, something deep and vulnerable
I gauged myself and my feelings even more
Saying to my heart, “it will just perish”
But days passed, I started to become foolish
I fell into likeness with you and definite I was
Contemplating and reflecting on a decision, I must!
Our fates may have been planned
Things came about though complicated but manned
We’ve placed ourselves in a difficult situation
Yet we were happy for having our feelings expressed.
I weighed things out, carefully and sure
Commitment and love for him were now more obscure
Even before you came, uncertainty was a question to be answered
Many means were sought and prayed.
You came into my life and made me realized
Something that is greater, free and more that I can take
That I’m still capable of loving somebody else
And be loved in returned and not make myself bleak.
A moment between us happened
May 15 was the date and everything was said, breakeven.
With a crying heart, I told you of what my heart was feeling
You too confessed yours and time passed even more exciting.
It’s been a week now since we’ve cleared everything between us
We’d promised each other to cut strings from our past.
The times spent with you, deep happiness felt
I wish this would last even after the world would melt.
No words could express how grateful am I to the Lord
Not even the renowned lines in prose or poetry could describe this contentment
When you came into my life, love became more defined
Obstacles may hinder our path, as a larger scheme of things is meant.
I’m just wishing for one single dream
A dream that would be achieved if strength and trust are assured
That these trials may be withstood
And someday, our love would be not anymore curbed.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
So what if our ages are months or years apart,
Love lies not in numbers.
So what if our abodes are airplanes or a bus ride apart,
Love is not curbed by distance.
So what if our incomes are millions or thousands apart,
Love is not controlled by dollars.
So what if our Gods or those we think rule us are different,
Love is immune to such differences.
So what if our preference in music is as vast as the sky is spread across the ocean,
Love does not lie in music alone.
So what if our boundaries seem to others as two poles of the magnet;
But yet to us,
We are glued by an invisible bond of gooey stuff that
Goes beyond the superficial stuff
Of colour and creed and cross,
The ties that bind us do not depend on the eyes that see us,
Love so feeling, kind and healing,
Energizing and vibrating,
Absorbing and melting,
Into each other now and forever more!!
© shaqila
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
I wish I never met you. Not out of hate but out of love.
I wish you never showed me how it was to be happy.
Because now that your not here... Alone to myself and my emptiness,
an absence so deep it crushes me breathless.
A love unfinished unappreciated undiscovered utterly uprooted.
Without you I'm unloved.
Without.
Just me.
Emptiness curbed by the hope your still waiting for me.
Waiting upstairs - waiting,
calling for me to come to bed.
I long for that again.
The need for a connection ... to you, to myself.
A purpose to exist and care.
When its just me in a room within, there is too much space.
Just empty closets of your memories.
Loaded gun of emotion with no target.
Bound and compressed to dust.
A diamond will arise from the ashes but not for you.
Never again will I let you inside my expanse.
Just to hurt me and watch me bleed.
When you were in pain, my shoulder is where you lay.
When you where happy, my eyes were your gaze.
When you were in love, my chest your head fell.
When you were lost, my heart you stayed.
Now all that remains.
When you pushed me away, beside you I stayed.
Forever I could have been there, stepping through the mud.
No hope, no love, no mud, no longer.
Pain is double edged like your two faces.
With one comes the other.
One I never thought existed.
One I never thought I'd see.
One I can't let go of and dispel.
One - a memory that deforms my existence.
Understanding chaos is a never ending deployment.
Lonely and expressionless with
No muse for my fingers.
No figure of beauty to adore endlessly.
Trapped now within my prison of passion.
A vessel to pour my unbound passion.
An unlikely companion stifled immature and premature.
Incapable, incompatible - irresistible.
An unlikely companion clearly conceptual.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
O,
Ye samaria
Harken unto us,
For this is how far the Lord has brought us
"We Gehazi"
For
By our afflictions
Did thee left us
In the stench over the gates of the city
There
We sat in our rags
And wobbled in the burns of the fiery sun
But
When night invaded the peace of the sun
Was the burns gobbled wholly
Allowing the malicious cold breeze
Pierce through our bones and marrow
Like the arrows of the syrians
Yet
Now and then
Will thy hearts
Befriend compassion
And serve us with the remains of thy garbages
And yea,
Their pungent aroma we gasp with delight
And although,it came with a bruised satiety
It curbed our curse and anxieties
We were wasted,yet death feared to waste us whole
But
In the times
When thy comforting abundance
Was clutch and struck by thine enemies
Did thy desperation for quench
Plunge through our lungs and stomach
Like
Thee,we were hoist by famish
Yet exceedingly
And our souls will bleed relentlessly
When we prayed and wept
"Why sit we here until we die"
There
The spirit of the lord
Descended in our midst
O,we unclean
And made us more valiant than thine armies
We bacame conquerors of thine enemies
When
We stride
Through the valleys
Of the shadows of death
And every step we made scaled our breath
Yet through all,and Truth
His rod comforted us
And oblivious of our fate
He set banquets in the tents
Of our enemies
Our rags did he made the finest robes
And in our care did he bade their luxuries
O,
Ye doubtors and despaired samarians
Harken unto us
For we carry the glad tidings of the lord
Behold!
Ye all on this day
Shall witness the great abundance
Of the lord
And testify his mighty works for all
UNCLEAN
2 Kings 7 vrs 3
©Historian E.Lexano
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
I’m ready
Written with the help of the opening lyrics of
Bad Company's "Ready for Love"
“Walking down this rocky road”
Pebbles stare like boulders
Detouring my thoughts
Blocking motions to feel
Curbed by jagged ridges breathing
“Wondering where my life is leading”
Checking the map for intersections
Wanting to find some sense of truth
Written on an overpass
In graffiti spray paint dreams
“Rolling on to the bitter end”
Following the signs
Watching my sneakers tear
Exposing flesh to the elements
Of wandering longings
“Finding out along the way”
That things don’t last forever
But where the shadows sit
From the lost, the new
Are waiting in the cool shade telling
“What it takes to keep love living”
And I listen, learning which each painful step
Dragging my emotions behind me
In a knapsack of desires
Whispering out of breath
“You should know how it feels, my friend”
It is enlightening, burden lifting
When I finally realized
Someone is waiting at the end of that road
For me because…
“I'm ready for love”
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
The disinfectant
Masking a splash of *****
Has curbed my hunger
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC