"deviously" poems
Large ****** deformity
Like seeing desperate
Leeches ******* dirt lightly,
Smoothly, dumped lazily down south
Little saddened devils lurched suddenly desperate
Lakes silently draw leukemia symbols
Launched dangerously spiteful.
Lust doesn’t stop liking steady destruction
Literally souls die loudly.
So? Dumb lives salvage deceit.
Lying smart distributors lure sabotage deviously
Lord, sometimes deeper love spawns damaged life
softly dead. Listlessly.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 7:28 AM UTC
It just takes a heartbeat.
You are brought into this world
Shaking and crying
Confused and lost
Awake and aware
Unable to speak
Barely breathing
Eyes wide with innocence
Pure as sunlight
Screaming from the pain
And your mother
Collapsed in agony
Suddenly detached
From her first born
Relieved yet bitter
Nostalgic and anxious
Her precious child
With nothing more
Than a pulse,
A heartbeat,
And wide eyes
Revealing the universe
With every blink
And you grew up so fast
Too fast, she claims
As you watch the home movies together
Over popcorn
And cigarettes
And the pixels expose
How you waddled through the weeds
Speaking in tongues
And gibberish
And you fell down
But you never cried
You look over
And your mother is passed out
On the old tattered couch
Slowly, mechanically, you rise
And sneak out the front door
Delicately and deviously
Alone and brave
Unaware that the youth
Are far from invincible
Your pal Trevor meets you
A block down
Blasting that punk rock ****
Because your mother hates it
And secretly, so do you
And in a heartbeat
You're in his front seat
Screaming about the world
And how ******
It all is
Trev smiles sadistically
Passing you a ****
Of something sweet
To take all your troubles away
And suddenly
You're flying
Down the highway
With your arm out the window
A wing spread
Your heart bursts
You grow up so fast
And suddenly
You don't hate the world at all
But it's far too late
You look over
And Trevor is passed out
In his old, beat up Chevy
Gracefully, rapidly, you rise
And ascend up to the pearly gates
Tragically and disturbingly
Alone and afraid
Suddenly aware that the youth
Are far from invincible
And your mother gets the call
Four in the morning
Distraught and confused
Suddenly the words pieced together
And she lost her baby
To this cruel, ****** up place.
She screams.
And sobs.
You were taken from this world
Shaking and crying
Confused and lost
Awake and aware
Unable to speak
Barely breathing
Eyes wide with innocence
Pure as sunlight
Screaming from the pain
It just takes a heartbeat.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
the mighty may fall, but the weak fall faster. in this world of thieves and killers, to stand your ground means to cut them down. there is no hope for the frail of mind, the deviously cunning are all that survive. stand up and fight! i cannot help you now! countless times i have slain for you, laying to rest those that would do you harm, but its your turn now. i have done all i could to shield you, but the world will no longer allow my protection. it is throwing you into the pit with nothing but the knowledge i provided you with. as i watch with worried eyes, you stand on shaking legs, aware that to win this battle, you cannot fight fair, and your first defeat will be your last. only the hard survive in this cutthroat kingdom, where your castle becomes your tomb if you are not quick enough to defend it. i watch determination replace your fear as you remember my words and face your demons, striking them down one by one, gaining confidence with each swing of your sword. you understand now... i am gone, you must fight where i have failed, while i watch from above.. hoping ill see you soon yet praying that i wont. death was my final defeat.. now you must fight.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
It was a night of music softly playing, listlessly upon the bed I was laying,
Lying awake with toss and turns without subtle hints of a snore…
And whilst this time my eyes did wander, avoiding the lids they should be under,
Suddenly as I was under, under the spell of consciousness I could not ignore…
“No, this cannot be,” I whispered, “this insomnia I cannot ignore;
Awake I lied, sleeping never more.
The clock soon read the 30th minute of two, and it was now that I knew
As I stares bleakly to the scuffled patterns of my feet on the carpet floor,
I tried to rise up from bed in hopes to gain; fatigue made that attempt in vain.
My eyes wrought forth tears from burning pain, the nightly air made them sore…
The darkness of the night air now silent but dry has left them burning sore,
Craving the sleep that comes never more.
My blanket held the rustling of my body so violently tussling
In anger—such anger that the blanket had suddenly tore;
And so now I laid there, with fluff of stuffing my blanket was ‘bleeding’,
“I fear that this must be the sleep I’ll crave, yet ignore,
For it seems odd this craving my body would so deviously ignore."
Still awake I lied, craving sleep ever more.
Restless I turned to my side, when then my eyes grew joyously wide,
“I had forgotten,” said I. “Cure for restless sleep, this bottle does implore";
Unfortunately, I took some previously- the limit to such an aid is a pity,
And the clock had struck three, three hours I am forced to ignore,
"Oh, the sleep that I needed…” I mourned softly on the time I had to ignore.
“I want sleep and nothing more!”
All the time I laid staring, the darkness faded, the sun now glaring;
Forcing a retreat of the darkness covering the scuffled patterns on the carpet floor.
A dawn’s glow shined with brilliance, against my eyes so red and resilient,
The sleep, once again a night of rest I craved for my body, so weary and sore,
For the sake of my eyesight now the sun’s gleam had made ever so sore
“Sigh, ‘tis another fortnight I sleep never more.”
© 2011
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
also morpheus, thou who art dusted leaves
tremulous portraits plaintive angels creaking
pinions, wasted paint clanging fatly unskinny
corpulent boughs spread deviously; rip carefully
sanity: a flagrant splendorous nymph hard arithmatic
chime softly a dull pepper in my head: mostly
cobwebs and fluff punished grinning skulls
my teeths are clean and the smooth hollow
of thoughts is a pillow budding dream
laid crinkled masterpiece and fill it morpheus
with your excellent meat
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 11:13 AM UTC
The silence it deafens me
with violence they threaten me
to carry me off to an asylum
unless I can provide them
with an ulterior motive
till I hand in my notice
relinquish the chains upon my bed
the fiendish brain inside my head
deviously plotting my own demise
take leave from this place to warmer tides
bathe my body beneath calmer skies
naked like the day I drew breath
naked as I stare upon death
one hand holding a crooked scythe
the other beckoning to me, my life
did you forget to count the die?
or forgo the countless lies
that made the Countess cry
neither man nor mystery could change her path
so it's left to me to rearrange the past
jigsaw pieces scattered upon my pillow
connecting dots to draw the willow
who could forget the weeping widow
that cried herself to sleep.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 6:52 PM UTC
If, as they say, the cells
of the body are replaced every seven
years, then I'm a new being
since my sons were newborn.
I have died and been reborn
neither better nor worse yet remembering
feeding them while dancing to Moment's
Notice, as they attended with new minds.
Having died, as such, I find I do not mind
quiet living with the purpose of a cell
unbound by minutes or moments
as men know them. There are seven
deadly sins, seven ways of remembering,
seven stages in which to have been or continue being.
None of them recur after one's reborn
and none are known to us from before we're born.
Of the two young people to whom I was born,
one has lately died. I do not so much mind.
Although I do not, he believed he'd be reborn
and who can say what happened to his soul or cells?
Perhaps in Christ we continue being,
or with some other deity, as the churches claim monotonously,
momentously,
demonically and deviously. It seems about as relevant that
seven
rhymes with heaven and rhyming's a mnemonic device (for
remembering).
But remembering
what? To go to the daily discipline to which you were born?
I fought seven forest fires, took seven
lovers, my sons are seven, and my mind
is the sole owner and subsidiary of these memories and
moments.
Unless I am to be reborn
they disappear with me. Masefield's poem continues to be
the most honest and chilling assessment of our souls' and cells'
disbursement. I can imagine stem cell
research may lead to a cure for dementia, loss of memory
about who you are and where you've been.
If one's not been born
this doesn't matter. But if you're being reborn,
in the sense of "he not busy being born is busy being reborn"
(Dylan),
then it is best and most correct to consider your last moment
of a continuum with moments endless and entirely in your
mind.
The mind is made of cells and moments, seven billion of them.
Remember to be born and reborn, early and often.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
In walks One,
So it begins with Primal desire!
On stumbles Two,
And Heaven and Hell brutally conspire!
Here comes Three,
Bow down to the Holy Man!
Standing in the corner is Four,
My Love constantly alters his contour!
Lying outstretched is Five,
All his senses irrevocably combined!
That precise symmetry is Six,
What Luck his Lady must bring!
The Sinister player is Seven,
Deviously uniting mortality and divinity!
Nose in the air is Eight,
His Perfection won’t dare be disregarded!
Out walks Nine,
His destination distinctly Eternity!
And here I stand, curiously observing the scene,
Figuring life is nothing but Numerical Folly!
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 10:51 PM UTC
You didn’t tell me you were stopping by;
yet you appeared so suddenly
like the rain does in early April.
We don’t say much although we want to;
what I really want to ask is: why are you here?
I stifle a laugh as I realize there is nothing to be said.
There is nothing ever to be said, especially after
twisting my branches off of my decaying stump
deviously deciding to lay them out before me, pointing at them and laughing before running away like a child
who has done something naughty.
I shake my head watching you run sadly watching
my dying leaves fall to the ground
oh so wishing you hadn’t done that.
I could kick myself wishing you would come back
with a sheepish look on your face trying to put the branches
back into place.
They would never go back of course, but it’s the thought
that always counts right?
Your voice suddenly snaps me out of the past:
"I just wanted to see you."
I bite the inside of my cheek raw
bitter metallic blood oddly soothes my taste buds;
a morbid distraction at best.
Still silence fills the air; creaking of the floor boards
is all we hear.
I really look at you this time: look at that! beads of
sweat appears! are you as anxious as I?
Oh cruel excitement, we meet again!
A slight devilish smile escapes me, I cannot help it.
"The door is behind you," I say and point.
Be gone, let me grow again.
Apr 30, 2022
Apr 30, 2022 at 11:36 AM UTC
Demagogues of our society; daftly delivering
disarming delusions of decrepit delights.
Dealing in powder, rock and liquid death,
demurely doled out in droves to the
willing unconscious, dysfunctional deviants
of the land.
Blindly offering devotions, flaccid devotions
to plastic, white collar deities; giving new
definition to internal deformity, through
decelerated dejection.
Desperate and emotionally dismembered,
defrauded by quick, cheap decadence,
debauchery, and mental decay in many
deliriously delicious forms...pick a flavor,
name your poison!
Delegate your defect, as those with
doctoral degrees in defunct traditions
do deviously delineate their demented
designs...for our future.
DejaVu?
Perhaps, but in fact, it is we
who sniff, inject and drink up their drivel,
decidedly and dutifully depleted of
intellect by way of dubious data.
Duplicitous dullards...sanitize and
deodorize their fiendish lies...as we,
WE do nothing!
Not enough of us dumbfounded or
dumbstruck by their deceitful smiles.
Full of dread and deep dismay, by
the statutes of the day...I, for one,
will dream of better days, when we
shall defeat these diabolical demons.
But for now, down beaten, downtrodden;
we will continue to be denigrated for
the duration.
Clever dissection; dumb as they want you
to be,
disparity of all creativity...individuality...
and all of your rights...controversially.
Our disgruntled displeasure doomed...to
fall on dormant hearts...and we,
debilitated and daunted, lives dismantled,
are now forever haunted, by our freedoms
demise...by days we could question
their smiling lies.
Demagogues; Big Brother...such delinquents
dosing up the masses with a deluge of powder,
rock sedation and liquid elation...pick your flavor,
name your poison.
At the end of the day WE are ONE...duped,
defaced, defeated...and to continue on this
road, our final denouement will come
disturbingly disguised...as DEATH!
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
Golden sun on golden hair
The kind of girl you can follow
By the trail of broken hearts
And promises of passion
Fashionable fury
Magnificent monster
Devouring life
Devoted to lust
Desiring love
In my head I saw the cohort
Of lovers, past, present and future
Walking meekly by
Cherishing the whole lot
From first eye contact
To first touch
And even the crush
The smack on the head
That useless feeling of feeling useless
It’s hard not to make the same mistake
Even in a place so mundane
As you set a place like this
Ferociously on fire
Burning and battering
Heat and heart
Mesmerizing mess
Deviously destructing
The girl at the bus station
Promising a journey you’ll regret
And a morning after to forget
Sentimental slur
Like only a fool could feel
Heading in heart first
Ending up endangered
Feelings rearranged
Promises kept
The girl at the bus station
You know she’ll break your heart
And still you get aboard
Because life’s too short
Not to give in to sin
Sensual sacrificing
Dare to wear your heart
On a sleeve
Only to have it thrown away
So she transformed
From the girl at the bus station
Into the girl from that one memory
Of that horrible movie
And that passionate play
Hoping that it all
Proves to be a prequel
Of the story of a lifetime
About a girl at the bus station
And a fool who came to stay
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 6:07 AM UTC
I kissed those lips so many times,
I held you as you caressed me to your will,
heat's rising between the two of us
& I'm becoming intoxicated
by your lustful glares-
As you stare deep into my eyes
while you deviously - lavishly
lick & **** betwixt my legs...
Pulsations consuming my very thoughts
I was to be the one to ******
once I finished my seductive belly dance...
You've surpassed me - grabbing
my dancers gear,
ripping fabric as you
feverishly kissed my gaping- shocked
"wide open" mouth.
Sweet ecstasy's taking
over every part of my being.
Your tantalizing tongue
teasing in and out
of me as I spread wider for you.....
I rant the silence with lustful
passionate screams as wave after
seductive waves
pulsate through me all the way to my toes.
I'm hurting in a good way as you climb up over me
slowly so wondrously slow
you enter me,
moving deeper
ummm
deeeeeperrrr.....
I feel Oh
YESSSS...............
I come wake
sadly it's only
a dream!
May 13, 2010
May 13, 2010 at 10:22 AM UTC
Genuine conversations
were passion's static overblown
through classical lover's eyes.
i.
Confessing unrevealed tries
in variation with grieving cries.
Sighs and moans were touched
and savored everyday, at the same place.
ii.
Unexpected completions
were deviously divulged over
The temptress' despair, while cardboard
arrogance compressed within aluminum kisses.
iii.
Chemical liquids were drawing attention,
fingertips quivering at the sight of your eyes.
Palpable tension cutting through the styrofoam walls,
that we gently established to separate this sweet seduction.
iv.
Demolition began once playful vengeance intervened.
No longer did the requiem delay its flow and crunch,
for its succulent grin was painted on his chest
and carried on his hands.
v.
Cards were drawn to encaustic wax papers,
captivating lover's delight.
With sudden frustration, we searched evanescently,
for a piece of carton to hide from the fiery rains.
vi.
While puzzled Questionnaires were imprinted on catatonic embraces,
we both gnawed on the bone for answers;
barking gently at our feet, we tangled with uncompromising pretenses,
giving ourselves multiple aberrations with heartbreaking waves.
Tonight I cuddle the thorns and the knives,
contemplating lethargic affections,
infected with veracity's confection,
ignoring the ideal that I fell unfulfilled.
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 12:03 AM UTC
A voice,
I was familiar with
Previously, deviously
Reaching out
For more of what she had
Before
May 31, 2023
May 31, 2023 at 10:41 PM UTC
How does it feel to lose yourself,
To feel yourself oozing through your pores and pouring into a shell?
These restless nights are deviously common,
My eyes have gone dry, no more bawling.
I lay here and wonder how did I miss the dead end,
Why did I sprint so purposely with no message to send?
These days you feel ashamed of the right, proud of the wrong.
My thoughts race, there's no time to process them,
I don't think they belong..
I swear I try my hardest to make you all proud,
I gave up, it's hard when you feel all alone in a crowd.
These people don't deserve me, you, us.
You and I confide in them and they ruin our non-resilient trust.
When you're alone, who's there to disappointment and vice versa?
Who's there to make you feel small and destroy ya?
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 5:01 AM UTC
12/15/2017
Maybe a woman. Definitely not a lady.
Always fluid, everchanging
Transient, human, waxing and waning
Dust to dust, the earth is waiting
Skin deviously separating
Lips and eyes and breath recreating the truth
Impermanence, interrelationships between the two of you
Between the hundreds of thousands of beings surrounding and breathing with you
Being with you
Being me
Being this inexorable mix of light and twisted, my fight is rising, round 2 has been gifted
Moving, shifting, intermixed
Lifting my voice to try to fix the never-ending brokenness
The ******* hoes, the tokenness
My ecosystem intertwined
Roots supporting, climbing vines, climbing high
Rise and rise, the end is nigh, lest we fight this beast beside
These children fighting over limbs
Ripping flesh and slicing skin
Removing organs from the breathing earth within
Ive spoken this truth before
But from a shattered soul
I speak now from a podium
Breathing deep and whole
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
On his lonely boat
In an ocean filled with broken fish
Swimming
Surviving at the depths
Waiting to be rescued
The fisherman waits
Patiently
Examining the fish below
Waiting for his time
To use words of kindness and care
In the form of a hidden agenda
These lost fish
Desperate to find light in their darkness
They spot a sparkle at the end of his line
They observe the beauty and go to that glimmer
The goodness the fisherman is showing
They bite into his masked perception
And realize they are getting reeled
In disbelief as they get hooked closer
He snaps!
The bait out of their mouth
This kind fisherman now owns them
As they live in his bucket
Among other young fish
Controlled by him
He, who loves to play games with their fragile minds
To feel powerful and whole
As he feeds them weakness
Deviously devouring their soul
Piece by piece
Until only their skeleton remains.
One managed to escape his asylum.
As he casted his line
Back in the blue of hope
She watched his lines
Filled with glitter
Nearing another
How does she warn the lost fish in her sea?
© Jl 2016
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
I have many nice jars,
All sparkling in a row on my shelf,
Lined up like the books above them,
Each kept safely out of harm’s way,
With no intentions on returning them,
These jars are not mine,
These jars have been stolen,
The culprit- none other than I,
Deviously I took one by one,
Thinking the glass would always sparkle and thrive,
My collection started scarce,
It then began to grow,
For my shelf would be quickly filled,
“This one looks good” I thought,
As I received my very first jar,
Until things went amiss,
I hurried to gather more,
Greedily I thought, “Maybe this one will do,
Ah, Indeed it looks better”,
However, this one was also askew,
My desire sought out another,
My shelf was slowly losing space,
I stepped back to take a look,
At all my pretty jars I’d obtained,
All neatly row by row,
I was terribly shocked,
When I realized what I’d done,
Each jar was filled with precious life,
Still pumping it’s fresh, red blood,
I had plundered so many,
Brought them destruction and strife,
I had bought out each one of their jars,
At any risky price,
I felt so sad for all those jars,
Wishing I could give them back,
And panic set in when I scanned the shelves,
And could not find my own,
The jar that had my name on it,
With a gold, glittery pen,
Was nowhere to be found,
And I ‘d give anything for my jar,
If it only could be done.
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 3:28 AM UTC
One head
Watches over me,
covered in scales of plenty
Like a slimy sea
Licking my own fate
Two heads
Engulf the air and circle the ground
Looking for something not found
A flammable screeching sound
Masks the rush of my heart rate
Three heads
Prevent me from moving on
Like foxes trying to con
Hoping that what I search for is gone.
They deviously begin to mate.
Six heads
Barricade like thick cement
Keeping me in tryin to prevent
Any and all things I present
Then with a promise, I sedate.
One heart
I aim for straight away
Noiselessly I stop and stay
Silencing voices I have let stray
My own victory I now can create.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 4:49 PM UTC
It was I suppose,
Her pencil skirt that did me in.
Never trust a man,
Who says otherwise.
It was I suppose,
His chiseled chest that did her through.
Never trust a woman,
Who makes you believe otherwise.
For all his intelligence,
All her enamour.
All their dreamy thoughts,
That bloom like spring meadowed flowers.
What we see first,
Both spikes and hairfalls.
Is the beauty of the body,
The perfection that we've been taught.
We're the imperfect victims,
Of a perfectly perpetuated society.
Taught to tread carefully,
Through the blurred lines deviously disguised.
We are taught to love,
By the love lost loner.
We are told to be tolerate,
By the taunted jilted moaner.
Ooh fickle life,
what a sullen lie.
Ooh hopeless future,
Defeated before you even tried.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
Be strong, oh weathered anchor
Of a mind adrift at sea
Hold firm this home on murky depths
As familiar waves lap hungrily
Cry not, oh weathered anchor
Of a mind adrift at sea
As glimpses of a life once known
Ebbs and morphs deviously
Fear not, oh weathered anchor
Of a mind adrift at sea
The fight to grasp what once was known
Tattered image drips menacingly
Let go, dear weathered anchor
Of this mind adrift at sea
Slip gently asunder the past now lost
Unbound from memories, floating free.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
There was time
when I dreamed
of a better life,
when I wanted
to stop the world
& melt with you.
And for a time,
we did.
I would get all caught up
in the moments
we spent
teaching each other
the finer intimate things
we liked to do with each other.
When you hiked your skirt
up like that,
you'd laugh deviously
& I would go berserk
in a good way.
Funny, how you always
knew it would.
You wore those
high heels & that silky lace.
The look you got on your pretty-face
when we reached that finer place
is forever etched in my mind.
There's no way
I could ever forget
what you did to me,
where you sent me
inside you.
I miss you terribly.
I ain't no cry baby, but
the world is spinning again
& I'm not laughing now.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
A cold and pitiless wind moves among us,
A current of current rising from epochs old.
Can we sleep serenely and without fear when
Amid stirrings of horse's hoofs he smiles?
Beneath primordial moons deviously does plot,
Time is of no value, eternity has evolved.
Without the ticking sound of the life's clock,
Snorting Arabian steed's anxious for the fight.
Poised on every shore, peering into windows,
O, so stealthy, when at last the moon has hid.
And the tide washes up, deposits combatants,
They come, by air, luxury liner, banana boat.
By the soles of their feet, souls of their God,
Like residue from a growing, fanatical storm.
What blood moves through these warriors,
Which provokes bloodlust as easily as a smile?
He is there, over there, here too, right here,
Where the children are at play with yesterday's
Values, yesterday's view, yesterday's excitement?
When the tongue and eyes of the ancient ones
Speak softly, gazing upon the long awaited prize.
The thundering of million's of hoofs let loose,
Neighing a battle cry to the dead, silent old ones.
And we, well we go about our business of sanity,
Thinking we are good, we are clean, we laugh.
Calmly we do leave the doors and the windows
Ajar for our visitors who are now neighbors,
To finish the ancient martyr's settling of scores.
©April 26, 2004 / Jerry Pat Bolton
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 9:34 AM UTC
Your wedding gown still sits in my closet.
I refuse to touch it.
The last time I did,
it was sliding off of your fragile frame.
You seemed so happy in that moment.
Everything seemed so… Perfect.
The lights were on, and you didn’t care.
You smiled at me,
so deviously,
Because you already knew
You would be giving that smile to someone else less than a year later.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
I think poetry is for the dependent
Those who can't strive a day without
Constant writing, perpetual recording, meticulous brushstrokes
On the painting of a vibrant story
Told through heavy language or light yet elegant babble
Or perhaps it's truly for the lost
Those lacerated and devastated
By life's inevitable nature,
The deviously maleficent,
Or even their own bewildered selves.
Still, I look back
At the days of unbecoming
Horrible ignorance and unprecedented knowledge
Proverbial wisdom and undiscerning youthfulness...
When life was a default wonder.
Poetry had not been my guide
Without a pillar I trudged on.
Yet! What a horrific period of life!
Oh, if only then I had the mystical treasure
Of which I certainly possess now
I think poetry is for all who appreciate it--
If not, then those who take from it,
The insecure, shameful, resentful, narcissistic, far off, logical, illogical, confounded, missing, gothic, dying, feral, lonely, creative, incapable, hopeful, and dead
It's our universal language
In times of hope or death
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC