"dabbling" poems
The lost days of my life until to-day,
What were they, could I see them on the street
Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of wheat
Sown once for food but trodden into clay?
Or golden coins squandered and still to pay?
Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet?
Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat
The throats of men in Hell, who thirst alway?
I do not see them here; but after death
God knows I know the faces I shall see,
Each one a murdered self, with low last breath.
‘I am thyself, — what hast thou done to me?’
‘And I—and I—thyself,’ (lo! each one saith,)
‘And thou thyself to all eternity!’
6.5k
aerial ladder truck, amok, amuck, awestruck, bad luck, black buck, black duck, bruck, buc, buck, by luck, canuck, chuck, cluck, cold duck, collet chuck, cruck, dabbling duck, delivery truck, diving duck, donald duck, druck, duc, duck, duk, dumbstruck, dump truck, dumptruck, fire truck, fish duck, fishbach, fluck, fslic, garbage truck, garden truck, get stuck, give **** gluck, good luck, grucche, guck, hand truck, hockey puck, huck, hucke, icing the puck, ill luck, kachuck, kluck, kruck, kruk, kuc, kuck, kuk, ladder truck, lake duck, lame duck, laundry truck, luck, lucke, luk, mandarin duck, megabuck, moonstruck, mruk, muck, musk duck, naugatuck, nuque, panel truck, pickup truck, pluck, potluck, puck, queer duck, raybuck, roebuck, ruck, ruddy duck, schmuck, schtik, schuch, schuck, sculk, sea duck, shmuck, shuck, sitting duck, smuck, snuck, sound truck, starbuck, starstruck, struck, stuck, stucke, suc, **** suk, summer duck, thunderstruck, trailer truck, truck, tuck, tuque, unstuck, vhsic, wild duck, wnuk, wood duck, woodchuck, wruck, young buck,chuck-a-luck, yuck, yuk, zuck, zuk
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
Shadow of the past,
echo of the future;
dedicated Musician,
a Phonomancer;
and inspired Philosopher,
a Philosomancer.
A Mystic and a Metalhead,
a lifetime Scholar and a self-Teacher;
a determined and self-guided mythic Artist,
a psychologist and an Observer;
I am a Lover, a Father, and a Son,
a homeowner and a Dishwasher,
a Friend and a bit of a stoner,
a social drinker and a fan of quality Spirits;
I am a self-contained Universe
contained within another Universe;
so fractal-esque.
There is much to this being I call "me"
and so little of it is visible
from the surface of my awareness;
so much of it falls within-
within the limitless void;
to be revealed only in Time,
and, to be unraveled by Time.
Discerning, yet reckless,
a wise man and a fool;
I find myself within,
and within myself,
a beautifully chaotic dance
of chaotically diverse energies.
Within:
the Spirit of a Renaissance Man;
Music, Geometry, Cosmology,
Mathematics, Statistics, Physics,
Mythology, Musicology, Psychology,
Masculine, Feminine, Canine, Feline,
Light, Dark, Day, Night, Sun, Moon,
Anthropology, Cooking, Dreams,
*** Love, Lust, and Suffering,
Spirituality, Science, Language,
Contrast, Respect, Individualist,
Intuition, Feeling, Understanding,
Action, Non-Action, Elation,
a bit of a Goth and a Hippie,
a Rocker and a Composer,
Haphazard Attention to Detail,
Conscious, Shadow, Subconscious,
Id, Ego, Super-Ego,
Animal, Human Being.
Alive.
Mortal.
Mortal,
and grateful for it.
An aspiring,
amateur Shaman
who "shows promise";
dabbling in Feng Shui,
the Occult,
T'ai Chi,
the Tao, Zen,
Music,
Art,
and Life;
a dilettante Poet;
I am an ephemeral expression,
a temporary microcosm,
of both the Human Spirit
and the very Universe
in which we occur,
if for but a brief,
beautiful,
fleeting,
moment.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
*As rainbows emanate
within my soul,
watercoloring
all my emotions.
Painting stories
on my inner scroll,
as rainbows emanate
within my soul.
Dabbling colors
on the canvas whole,
waves of hues
swirling within my ocean.
As rainbows emanate
within my soul,
watercoloring
all my emotions.
When colors
combine and intertwine,
within the palette
of my heart.
Makes me feel fine
with a happy shine,
when colors
combine and intertwine.
Paintbrush emotions
tickle my spine,
my happiness
is a work of art.
When colors
combine and intertwine,
within the palette
of my heart.
As it paints laughter
upon my face,
each stroke
becomes a smile.
All the colors and hues
I embrace,
as it paints laughter
upon my face.
Pigments of love,
and faith, and grace,
are the colors
of my style.
As it paints laughter
upon my face,
each stroke
becomes a smile.*
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 8:51 AM UTC
As long as there are teenagers extant,
Anomie and alienation of
an unripened generation
Shall spill upon this site in cliched cries,
Dabbling with threats of pills and lies,
The endless pain felt gives one fright.
To this old soul who wonders silently,
Will these thousands of pained children
Make it through to their next incarnation
So much angst, so much anger,
I wonder if God created poetry
To salve their wounds
Their unknown futures loom,
But all I read is hurt and doom.
You shall survive, children.
Awful poetry, some good,
you will write.
But write and write
till your heart be calmed
For even ancient kings felt the anguish of the soul,
And we profit even today by King David's psalms.
This wizened fool has his hands full,
Mouths to feed, bread to earn and bake,
As midnight is almost nigh,
He rests prone and adds a verse to this old poem
He long ago scribbled down, grimace-smiles now,
Realizing there is little difference tween him and the
Sad Eyed Teenagers of the Lowland.
For poetry salves his wounds still, even now,
Unashamedly, he thinks, quiet like, praying,
Hallelujah, spoken in the original,
The tongue of his ancestors
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
Shuffled deck; fetch me three of Seventy-Eight cards.
First:
Queen of Swords
"This fine Sword of honest metal
is a more true an Ally
than many of Flesh indeed prove to be."
*Much like Athena,
The Queen of Swords
is symbolic of progress;
always keen on new ideas;
though she is not One to leave herself defenseless,
her faithful Sword stands
always by her side.*
Second of the three,
of the still Seventy-Seven:
Two of Swords
"Distracted by conflict
'twixt Heart and Mind,
I hold two Swords and bide my Time."
*Two of Swords
stands between Moon and Water;
the Shadow and the Subconscious
the darkness and the unknown.
The Two of Swords
is blindfolded
and in her blissful ignorance
maintains her precarious balance,
for now.*
The third of three random cards;
leaving Seventy-Five unturned:
Knight of Swords
"Feast your eyes upon this, my plan;
I wager thou hath, in all thy wretched days,
ne'er so beauteous a thing beheld!"
*The Knight of Swords
is a keen poet and a fine musician;
though perhaps not romantically.
She dabbles for the sake of the intellect,
and seeks that those things be playthings thereof.
She is symbolic of progress through new ideas
and of the eloquence of a well-laid plan.
Being of the House of Swords,
she revels in the stimulation of intellect
and the effective use of wisdom.
She usually yields only to herself
and marches to the beat of her own convictions,
all the while
keeping her eyes
on the prize.*
-
All of these Cards
are of the House of Swords.
There's about a 1 in 166 chance
of getting 3 of the 14 Swords
out of a random deck of 78 cards.
I got the Queen of Swords as my third card last time
and the first card this time;
There's 1 in approximately 676 chance
of getting the same card
in two consecutive sets of three cards
from a random 78 card deck.
(im)Probabilities aside:
The Suit of Swords is generally associated with:
one's ways of thinking, systems, ideas, and communication.
It has much to do with
what we chose to do with our Minds
and it also is symbolic of the power of
the stories we tell ourselves and each other.
The Swords are indeed double-edged in Tarot.
It has to do with the power of information
and with that comes delusion,
and, inexorably,
paradox.
Patterns do exist, however.
Upon these patterns
foundations may be built,
the same is true within myself;
I can choose to use all these Swords
to cut through this cage of Shadow
and set free the Light once more
rather than allowing myself
to myself fall victim to the Swords
through inaction or misuse
though only if I tread lightly
and thoughtfully
and proceed with tact;
that much is clear.
Sword is the sign of Air;
perhaps the message here is simply
"Remember to breathe."
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
Pinot this and pinot that
This young Grenache is a trifle flat
Better to try and get along
With a slightly older Sauvignon
I sometimes get a trifle low
When dabbling in a cheap Merlot
And so to scare the blues away
Will sip a spendy Chardonnay
But to avoid real ennui
Drink super Oregon Pinot Gris
And let’s be quite awfully frank
That’s much better than Chenin Blanc
But while you sort out your Pinot
Give a break to Grignolino
It’s good, but not the same as
A bold and cheeky Oz Shiraz
And if you want to go very far
Don’t ignore local Pinot Noir
It always sells well on the block
And I wonder who likes Marechal Foch
As I was supping a cute Barbera
At a certain State affaira
Things got quickly very highbrow
When someone mentioned Muller Thurgau
It is no lack of vinous respect
That makes us scorn the best Malbec
And can you find me a single fan
Of that very odd vine, Carignan?
If one must go to a grapey hell
There’s good company in Zinfandel
But if we really must go
Could we have some Nebbiolo?
In the end we all agree
Any wine is better free
But if not free we’ll surely call
Any wine beats none at all!
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
He was a heavenly hellion
acting the fool again
filled of dreams and adrenaline
hes mumbling with the manikins
and mocking the shenanigans
of morbid ministers dabbling with their daggers again
a hooligan
with a silencer ******** in
the machiavellian
looming beneath the luminescence of the crescent moon again
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
Shuffled Deck; the first Card:
XVI: The Tower
"Now, that's foreboding."
*Destruction of a thing familiar,
a thing tactfully constructed
a thing that's held dear;
Oh dear.*
The second card:
Page of Pentacles
"Time for something new."
*Enthusiastic exploration;
skillful, practical, and imaginative
a new approach to things;
beginning anew.*
The third card:
Queen of Swords
"Don't mind the Sword."
*Nurturing of new ideas;
honest, beautiful, intelligent and true
she always carries her sword,
that she may smite Betrayal.*
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:13 AM UTC
**Poet took a grandiose leap of faith,
amid a big swig of moonbeams
dabbling toes beyond starry galaxies
Milky Way spun in translations
Pluto still looked perplexed,
Big Dipper gave a smart **** grimace
wondering what the hell was
going on 'neath the stratosphere
when human beings can't keep
their heads above ambiguous clouds
feet firmly planted on ground,
delving lofty heaven's bliss
escaping the wrath of hell's fire,
aggrandizing endless poesy that
absorbs sparks of a universal desire
never phasing sun's obstinance,
but, if you believe in poetry
there's no telling where
boundless skies will surrender**
...and the man in the moon tilted on his axis in a
backward's spiral and unabashedly winked
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 7:59 AM UTC
*the feminine powerlessness of art, and the then again strict rubric of Darwinism's dictatorial regime to talk cool - sieg heil throughout, as a running honk! honk! (joke) on the sly.*
a testimony to high school:
don't ever listen to The Smiths
or The Cure, or Depeche Mode....
or any of my uncle's **** list...
the point being,
you can swagger among
Eucalyptus trees and feed the frenzy
like any Ibiza patron might;
cos' there's a koala rummaging
your drawers so to speak:
due to an episode of king's testicles
in the attic - hey presto!
a grand piano! hey presto! coronation's
fireproof underwear!
lovey dubby dub dub, and a coercive
test for nibbling on a Maltese ginger...
dabbling the fearsome offence...
the only school Morrissey attended was nostalgia.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 9:49 PM UTC
Here, from the king's mountain view;
here, from the wild dream come true;
feast like a Sultan, I do,
on treasures and Flesh, never few;
but I,
I would
wish it
all away
if I
thought I'd
loose you
just one day.
The Devil and his had me down,
in love with dark side I'd found.
Dabbling all the way down,
up to my neck, soon to drown;
but you changed that all for me,
lifted me up, turned me 'round.
So I; I; I; I;
I would,
I would,
I would,
wish
this
all
a-
way.
Prayed like a martyr dusk 'til dawn.
Begged like a ****** all night long.
Tempted the Devil with my song,
and got what I wanted all along;
but I,
and I would,
if I could,
then I would
wish it away,
wish it away,
wish it all away;
wanna wish it all away,
no cross that could hold, sway,
or justify kneeling away my Center,
so if I could I would wish it all away
if I thought Tomorrow
would take you away:
you're my peace of Mind,
my Home, my Center;
I'm just tryin' to hold on
one more day.
Dim my eyes;
dim my eyes.
Dim my eyes,
if they should compromise
our fulcrum
if wants and need divide me
then I might as well be
gone-
[Most epic instrumental section in 6 ever]
Shine on forever,
shine on, benevolent Sun.
Shine down upon the broken;
shine until the Two become One.
Shine on forever,
shine on, benevolent Sun.
Shine upon the severed,
shine until the Two become One.
Divided, I'm withering away.
Divided, I'm withering away.
Shine down upon the Many, light our way,
benevolent Sun.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
So,
as one,
survive
another day
in season.
Silence, legion,
save your poison!
Silence, legion,
stay out of my way!
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
You made a personal decision to leave HP, based on dissatisfaction with the abundance of certain language issues that have, in my opinion, saturated the site. I couldn't agree more with what you say, but is it enough to leave a site that has provided the majority with many enjoyable works.
I don't know just how old "The 'Ole Storyteller" is, it makes no difference. An enjoyable read is always an enjoyable read, and one that is read multiple times. Writers like yourself are important to the site. They are the ones we respect, look up to, learn from. Your writes serve as an inspiration, not just to the newcomers trying to find their way, looking to create their own style, dabbling with many, but for all of us that want to do better, better than the last one, and the one before it, and so on.
Your writes, teach. What more can you ask. Yes, there will always be those that want to waller in misery, wanting everyone else to swim with them in their muck. Some feel it necessary to throw in a few four-letter words which add nothing, but succeed in ruining what could have been a very good write.
Come back "Ole Storyteller"! Show those that cause your discontent that you are above what seems to becoming the norm.
copyright: richard riddle January 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
Dabbling in daunting errant
Walks the line of sane and saint
Map's of mice and men immortal
"turmoils end or endless toil?"
Journey's end or genocide.....
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
You’re an arsonist, baby.
You’re an arsonist, dabbling
in the arts of fire.
And love is your fuel.
My heart was inflamed.
You left me to smolder
But I stoke those flames
because I’m a pyromaniac.
Your flames licked at my flesh.
And I kinda liked it.
The heat, the burning,
I thrive off of it.
You’re an arsonist, baby,
and that’s okay.
Because I like the fire.
You lit me up, ignited
my thirst, my hunger,
my passion
I inhale your smoke.
Taking you in.
The smoke left me in a haze.
My vision, my thoughts,
all left unclear.
Your fire left nothing untouched.
You scorched my heart.
Consumed me. Refined me.
You sought to finish me off,
burning for you from within.
I tried to hide behind others.
Beneath their skin.
Not even grafts can hide
the damage done.
You left behind your mark,
on me.
Branded me with your ashes still visible.
Dose me in your precious love.
Open the flame. Light me
Up. I’m a dancing tongue of fire of your creation.
Watch me burn for you.
Watch me perish because of you.
Watch me love you with
Everything I am.
You’re an arsonist, baby.
And I’m a pyromaniac.
What’s the number for 911?
I need a firefighter.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:41 PM UTC
A two two tier system of health is established
now you are asked private or NHS.
This could determine who lives or dies
relying on those with funds.
The quality of treatment depends on paying
if none your only hope is praying!
NHS patients it's a lucky dip for treatment
private no expense spared.
No matter how dedicated the doctors maybe
money is the pass code.
Pay avoid the endless hours on a waiting trolley
instant service if flash the lolly!
No more the fare care for all who enter within
moral has long been exhausted.
By the excessive dabbling of many governments
where no parliamentarian is poor.
And had no knowledge of the staffs dedication
now wanting their eradication!
With an amazing crew who were not listened to
or giving them back up or respect!
The health service now in the United kingdom
is doomed to be for the rich!
The rest of us will wait forever for care
that no longer can be there!
Once the worlds flagship for health care
now the example to be aware!
The Foureyed Poet.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
i'm dawning
i'm dashing
i'm dancing
i'm dwelling
i'm dying
i'm digging
i'm dishing
i'm diving
i'm dozing
i'm dragging
i'm dabbling
i'm drawing
i'm dropping
i'm dosing
i'm dredging
i'm dreaming
i'm drifting
i'm drinking
i'm driving
i'm delaying
i'm drowning
i'm dumping
i'm drilling
i'm dandy
i'm doleful
i'm delicious
i'm dapper
i'm daring
i'm dangling
i'm dangerous
i'm damaged
i'm ******
i'm daily
i'm david
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 6:53 PM UTC
Although I’m on hydro’s
Its not enough to pick me up and
Lay me on the pavement like
Your warm arms used to
After all I’ve drivin’ miles upon miles
Halfway with my eyes closed because I dream
Of that exact moment most often
I run a marathon like that finish line
Is laying on a bed with you
Please, return the favor
By waiting
Giving prayer a purpose
I believe that God has the power
To make your arms surround me again
I want the road to twist
And even with a seat belt
Break right through the glass
Breathing is a wreck
For this brief moment suspended
In the air; due to how fast I was traveling and gravity
This feels like flying
It scares me that I could beat my wings
Although it’s already too late
You’ve taken what’s left of the hydro’s
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 1:31 AM UTC
Saw Kafka's "THE METAMORPHOSIS" last night.
In dance, words realized and a man sticky
As he decomposes,
Composes his family.
But without the usual inspiration,
Afraid to tackle what can not be made more
Beautiful.
So instead I scribble an equation
And put my head underneath the
Bathtub water,
And calculate my foolishness,
Dabbling in the mathematics of
Love and poetry.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:56 AM UTC
Oh, it's in this area of love, I've been wounded too many times
that my heart has gone numb as I'm now left dabbling in meters and rhymes.
Oct 6, 2023
Oct 6, 2023 at 8:22 PM UTC
Perhaps this is the way Picasso got started,
as a baby sitting in a high chair, dumping the
dish and the cup, the fork or spoon to the floor,
delighting in how the green of the pea met
with the yellow gravy, how the mashed
potatoes looked set against the wood plank
of the kitchen floor. Did he laugh with glee
to see the orange yolk of the egg swirled in
the white of the milk, how the red Jell-O
looked floating in the yellowed chicken soup?
Later, when painting became more than
a figment in his mind’s eye, did he recall this
early experimentation, this playing with food?
I prefer to think of you in this way daughter,
dabbling in colors like a young Picasso, your
only tools the fingers in your food. It is much
easier on my psyche to channel happy
thoughts your way, preferable to my getting
upset, aggravated every time you dump your
food, my blood pressure rising to the roof.
At every meal you fend off any attempts to
feed you, preferring to lift your own fork or
spoon then send them sailing, as if to say,
I will be in charge of my world. I will
command what is at hand. As my mind
wanders, I begin dabbling in daydreams,
futuristic thoughts… I am beaming with
pride… you are being called a genius as you
are applauded for your latest masterpiece…
but swiftly I am brought back to reality, as
just as quickly you hurl from your high chair
this meal’s rendition, today’s most recent
work of art.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
Shaded maple hallways, leaves abundantly growing.
Majestic storming waterways, holy as Holy Water.
These are part of us. These help define.
Glass and steel accomplishments jumble like
edifices of hope in cities of gloating pride.
We are these cities. We are these shapes.
History written and history being written
of yesterdays, now and tomorrow.
Cold of Winter and hot of Summer,
placid Fall and anticipating Spring.
So many Illusions, so many soft dreams!
These too are wrapped in our myth.
Canada, our Canada, once again
celebrates the escaping vowels
of national delight. We are humble
and yet we are arrogant in pride.
We are one people united under one Crown,
one stumbling picture, one dabbling future.
Merchants and priests. Politicians and
ordinary workers. Poets and dreamers,
these are also our definitions. We surprise
and we are surprised. We surrender to
our tossing hearts, we gesture with hope
to images of our future. Oh dear land
of contrasts and similarities, we live for and
in you. Shaded maple hallways, leaves
abundantly growing. Majestic storming
waterways, holy as Holy Water.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 8:02 AM UTC
David was born in a dreary wee spot
By the side of the mill in the dabbler's lot
His dad was a dabbler, all his long life
And his mother excelled as a dabbler's wife
When he grew to adulthood they 'prenticed him quick
Til he earned his diploma and dabbling stick
All day he would labour, at this and at that
In the tinkerer's workshop, upright or out flat
But his sunny demeanor was waxing and cracked
As in secret, he yearned for a thing which he lacked
For a life with out borders, impulsive and free
Where he'd live as a dolphin and leap through the sea
His mother had cried when he told of his dream
And his father was dead set against the whole scheme
There were tantrums, rebuttals and guilt trips galore
But young David was stubborn and made for the door
For the safety and warmth of the bus out of town
With a confident furrow entrenched in his frown
He tarried in places with odd sounding names
And confounded the groom of a good many dames
There were taverns and zoos where they'd shoot him on sight
So he took to decamping by cover of night
The journey was arduous, torrid and bleak
But he made it to Blackpool just shy of a week
The pier was bustling, jammed to the brink
But our David was not one to buckle or blink
He charged at the crowd with a deafening wail
They scattered, retreated and showed him their tail
When stood on the edge and admiring the weather
He casually cling-filmed his ankles together
Now hopping along like a fish out of water
He dived to his dream like a lamb to the slaughter
The moral should not be too taxing to spot
Be content with whatever you've currently got
Because sometimes a cloud is just low flying steam
And the universe gives not a crap for your dream
Washed up on the beach with a terminal chill
Lies Delusional David of Dabbler's Hill
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:28 AM UTC
I had my happy coloured marbles,
All in a drawstring bag
I even had my wits about me
When they all said I was mad
I've since lost my marbles,
My wit's been licked it seems
I'm still searching for them
While you analyze my dreams
Now they call me mellow yellow
Since that slick spark has dimmed
No longer a manic madman
Calmed by my tonic and gin
Why does there always seem to be
An exchange, creativity for conformity
A need for insanity to be confined to brevity
And quickly quelled by righteous authority?
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 7:19 PM UTC
there was a time when i thought that maybe i could start to be alive. i stayed away from drugs and alcohol and i trained for hours every day and learned what not to eat and practiced a religion i had no idea about. but i felt something was missing and i had no idea why i felt so empty. i saw the people i love start to turn sad and gray and most days they couldn't lift their head out of bed. i soon began to realize that i had stolen all of their happiness, all of their hope and all of their motivation to live. it was like once i started to feel happy i drained all others of theirs. of course the only moral thing to do was to give back their happiness but i did not want to.
i am selfish and i am selfless and i am without self.
i felt it was mine, not theirs. i worked so hard to be happy for the first time in my life. i was independent, i was hopeful and positive, i was everything i had wished i could be. but i understood that this happiness was not mine and so i drained myself with cigarettes and bottles on top of bottles of old liquor and a different drug every day. i began to dream feverishly of fresh grass and old tasting food and sickness. i began to dream of my death. death was an old friend and he did not mind reuniting. i had dabbled with death for a long time, always testing him and some times begging him to take me with him when he left. he always knew the right times to kiss me but he never followed through.
death talked a lot of **** for a guy who didn't know how to take a hint.
i prayed to a god who didn't listen to me. i constantly got into fist fights with a god who forgot about me
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC