"flamethrower" poems
Mario hits it with the sounds
of bodies hitting plexiglass.
My horses hit it without a sound. They want to escape it.
And I am trying to drive this dune buggy
off this cliff, but the clipping is strong here.
In Pac-Man, the tunnels were circular. I don’t know
if people realized that they were trapped in a sphere.
In Asteroids when you get to the edge of the universe,
you begin again.
And that Snake. His body could stretch all over his world
looping, but he could never eat his tail.
If all your electrons were in the right place, and all the wall’s
electrons were in the right place. You could feasibly walk through
the wall.
What would you do while in the wall? Think. Fear.
The superposition could rip your body into ragdoll parts.
When I turned clipping off, I expected the freedom to walk through
the wall and suddenly the floor
fell out from under me.
Every time I respawn I feel like my inventory is heavier,
and my flamethrower burns colder.
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
I started on the rooftop
The empty sky above was all I had
And all I needed
It was pure
Like a blank page
Waiting for a story to be written
But at the first sight of clouds
I fled to the top floor
There were fun and simple things on the top floor
Like Pokémon games
I got red, white, and blue
The monsters seemed so banal and repetitive
But nobody else would acknowledge it
Sending me into a dragon's rage
I tried using flamethrower on Charmander
Ending in futility as I ran out of burn heals
I looked out the window in frustration
Rain was falling outside
Inside
Patriotism was buffeted by the hail
So I devolved into a lower level
Going further down this building
For ***** and giggles
I found more ****
Less giggles
On a floor with a TV displaying the news
I was eager to learn about the world
Only to learn everybody hates each other
And nobody talks
Or cares
And the smartest person in the room
Is the one I agree with the most
Unable to view the tokens in my mind
As anything less than treasure
And those who try to persuade me otherwise
Are thieves
My spite steals tranquility
Like the persistent storm outside
My solution is shelter in lower levels
My experimentation on communication
With the general population
Had rained on my playful parade
But I felt very comfortable on a floor with friends
Until they saw through my charade
Discovering my emotions in disarray
As the people who made me love this building
Made me curse it's walls the more I loved them
I searched for the peaceful embrace of solitude
Once the storm outside transformed into a typhoon
I found that solitude
In a tiny bare room
With a syringe and spoon
I was unaware
That room was an elevator
That lowered me down the concrete void
As the hurricane outside rattled me violently inside my box
Trapped and lacking all agency
I resigned myself to wherever the elevator chose to take me
After the elevator finished pulling me into the basement
The tsunami seemed to cease
But I was buried under debris
I had to burrow out of my tomb
The dig was tedious and *****
My perseverance was heroic
But triumph was thwarted
When I reached the surface
To discover only wreckage remained
And when I looked up
I saw the building I inhabited
It's damaged facade
Made it clear
I would never visit those floors I missed on the elevator
Above my building
Hangs an empty sky
It's purity is a lie
The page was never blank
Just constantly written on and erased
To lure innocent readers into a tome
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
I am me
Until I am not
In the eyes of those who aren't me
Their perception of my ulterior motives pierces
every joke, compliment and remark
I attempt to burrow out of my chamber and into their's
But I find only confusion
Did anybody notice or care?
And if they did
Did they care about me?
Or the facade I built to buffer honesty?
Disgust is spelled on the faces of those forced into proximity
They view me as the canary in the coal mine of their life
Their contempt shocks stillness into me
Could we go back to pretending I'm human?
Are they putting salt in the wound to preserve it?
Or am I the remnants of a wasted youth?
Or a constant reminder of failure?
Do I help lower the bar to their own self worth?
Maybe I'm just paranoid
Is what I tell myself
To feel better
And I can drive down back roads all my life
But that won't erase the shame I feel of the car I drive
People sense my deviations and act accordingly
Their words spray like a flamethrower
Scorching my defenseless heart
And although my sympathy goes out to the innocent civilians
who were also hurt
I was mortally wounded
The well just continued to get deeper
I am haunted by what lies underneath
Afraid any passing archaeologist will dig it up
And share his discovery with the world
Then where will I hide?
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
I.
Fireman, censor of literature and destroyer of knowledge, with his mighty flamethrower. He loves his work. He loves trouble and strife. He loves fascination with the people next door. Mostly, he loves his hammock. But sleep will be his final unrest.
II.
A gift for the darkness: reading from the forbidden kept hidden in the air-conditioning duct. The walls within turn on and off like Cora Pearl. His wife listens to far winds and whispers and soap-opera cries, sleep-walking, helped up and down curbs by a husband who might just as well not have been there. They walk on as an extinguished connection. In the flickering of his eyeballs, he dreams of driving recklessly to Dover Beach and drowning her.
III.
Burning bright. He is burning so brightly. In the factory of mirrors, he takes a hard look. He's a flammable book. And it's a pleasure to burn. "What are you doing?" She asks. "Putting one foot in front of another." He answers.
Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 3:31 PM UTC
Smiling kindhearted old man
Told me stories
How
He burnt the butterflies
How
He burnt human skin
Burnt villages
In burning squads
Of flamethrower men
Fire chased
Children and women
Over cliffs
Scares the **** out of me
To know that behind that smile
Is a dark hidden history
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
The sea is a disaster of churning
LCU's buck like horses
From behind is heard the guns of destroyers
run aground in the shallow channel
Sixteen men shiver though the air is humid
Fifteen men know
they die today
Guns erupt from the cliffside
geysers of flame and water erupt all around
Craft is tossed
moving at snail speed
As death slowly approaches
Tongues of flame flash from pillboxs
the first man falls
Useless helmet fatally flawed
The boy begins to giggle
he tries to light a cigarette
his thumb refuses to flip the wheel
The ringing ping of ricochets off the hull
a rhythm of massacre
tears of a soldier singing his deathknell
Bow meets beach
gate goes down
Into the surf the soldiers leap
Clothing and gear turns to wet suits of armor
that do not protect from anything
Everything is screaming
****** bits blasted back into the sea
from ruptured flamethrower
Waves crash crimson and ******
pink foam forms
sickly **** of slaughter
Men cut down like wheat
the horror not complete
until Kraiss and Goth
order retreat
By then
three thousand men
lie dead in the waters
To the victor the spoils
blood and death like no other
The end begins
on the red shore of Omaha.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 8:03 AM UTC
I don’t want to be Bukowski
anymore
Filling women with my emptiness
Dowsing ***** with gasoline
Fondling the
icky, sticky
gritty sweet with my
fat-fingered, ***** nailed
slur
I want to be J. D Salinger
Just one something
so significant,
(even if it outlines the disturbing),
and then
a permanent exit
But here I am
Just like chuck
looking for a flamethrower
to eradicate that ******* bluebird
The words
spewed with all the sincerity
and eloquence I can muster
always lewd
I may have enticed a bit a love
via thin pen
to come knocking once or twice
but the sentiments
they contain no glue
And so when I tumble
back into
the hopeless spaces between
the dust and ***
there is no you.
or us
There is just
this interminably
ugly
I
believing Bukowski was right
And of course I deserve this ****
but
It would be better
to disappear
to never share
to take my ball and go home
forever
home
Yeah,
I want to be Salinger
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
My body shakes from adrenaline
Trying to rid the memories but
Reliving each moment in 3D
Crying and screaming in horror inside.
I don't even want to remember
I don't want to write it down
But it's the only way to get it out
To bring this Nightmare to light
The first thing I saw in my dream
Was my pale pink walls stained with blood
Splattered up to the ceiling beside by bed
Someone had been murdered there
I ran away in fright from this hell
This hell of a lucid dream
I ran the hell out of my house
And ran into a worse hell than my room
Public showers at a public pool
One showerhead a flamethrower
One showerhead boiling acid
Their victims lying there dead
Beside the pool were two lovers
A man and woman locked in a kiss
Frozen dead pale and stiff
The woman held a knife in his back
I ran away screaming only to come face to face
With the family who did all this
A psychopathic group set out to ****
And I was next on their hit list
I ran and ran and ran and ran
Running until I was out of breath
I kept running though my body failed me
I collapsed on the ground and died of heart failure
So that is my dream in a nutshell
Described as plainly as I can
Details avoided the horror unexplained
Nothing can be worse than this
My Nightmare of a Century
The Dream that tested my strength
Tested my bravery
My will power
I may not go to sleep again tonight
I may need to write to let it go
I may need to eat for comfort
And drown my mind in music and schoolwork
It doesn't make me less strong
It doesn't make me weak
It's just how I push through these times
When the Dawn comes I'll sing with joy
Thank you God for being here for me
When no one was online on Facebook
To talk to, to ask for prayer, to reach out to
Thank you for being 24/7/365 --I hate being alone.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
You and I have become a house on fire, a thousand hoses cannot douse us
we just spark up again, like a Phenoix of desire.
Rubbernecks scoff and say we will go out any second
yet we're still burning, and we will glow white hot
long after all the scoffers go find another house to stare at.
Their voyeurism only feeds our carnal flame. I suppose that we should thank them.
Our flamethrower love cannot be snuffed, slingstones and swords will never be enough
to tear down this house, even our own heat will not destroy it.
Our love is made of the toughest materials.
So we will dance in the bonfire that cannot burn us,
their hoses cannot douse us.
All the hoses fire fluff, that evaporates without ever dimming our light.
This Inferno of ours, is composed of coloured myriads
of lust and passion,
always blended with equal parts love and tenderness.
Because tenderness, it tempers us
it turns our lust to loveliness,
nothing is as perfect as us, standing in our pyre
when we realize we are not the ones being burned.
It's our passion that radiates, our love will never hurt us.
Our bodies aflame, they can't take their eyes off of us.
I can't say I blame them,
for I cannot take my eyes away from you either.
So lets stoke the heat between us, and we will stay together,
living inside the fire of our passion, free forever.
A Burns 2012
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 11:59 AM UTC
It was in my barracks that I learned the ol' saying
Persuading me to keep my clips from ever failing,
The gun may jam, a jester of the devil himself
To sway my gun from the enemy and turn it on myself
I a young private, along with my brothers in arms
To fight against the evils of the Viet Kong,
Rounds burst out far from my sight
But I knew those strong soldiers who fall,
will sleep well tonight...
We pushed them back far from our hill
Fired bullets and rounds to make our kills
Behind me stood the infantry men
Men of which I was one, still I couldn't comprehend
The bloodshed ran red, covered us with the killing sin
Still we fought, pushed them further than before
But on the back of my best friends helmet, I read
"All's Fair in Love and War"
We fought together, not a solider to him I was
It took one bullet to end his mighty cause
I patched his wound, I covered in his blood
As bombs and bullets rang out, I did the best I could
His helmet was like a well
The blood spewed from his bullet hole spout
Located to the left side of his head, I cried out
"ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR!"
I got up pouncing, bitter feeling swelled my brain
My assault rifle fired into the crowd
Of enemy's to which I showed disdain
I cut them down one by one
As my best friend lye in a pool of his own blood
Tears ran down my face
As the flame of a flamethrower heated my space
His body burned as in old English did at the stake
For his loss was not in vain said my Sargent
Looking at me with the sad look on his face
There on that hill I learned the ol saying that day
That every soldier on that battlefield held to their fates
And on our way home, back to the U.S of A
Quietly we wept with our ol saying
To call out to all those who fell, We let out a prayer
Then we all cried out,
"All's Fair in Love and War"
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Does anyone know that itch you get when you see someone else
Taking the one you thought was yours ?
That little green bug of jealousy
Crawling around deep down under your skin.
That's how I feel right now.
Seeing those girls sweet talk you
Flirt with you.
It sickens me.
I should be everyone one of those girls.
I should be the one you love.
It's tearing me apart inside to see this.
Forget them.
Remember me.
I was the one who really loved you from the start.
Those girls don't love you !
I love you.
Me, and me alone.
If those girls get any closer to you
I'll tear their pretty little heads off
And crack their precious perfect fingernails.
Burn their expensive clothes with a flamethrower.
Take a staple gun to their high heels and Uggs.
I'd do anything to see you smile
To hear you laugh
To taste your lips.
You don't seem to see me
When those girls are around.
They fill your vision
Leave no room for me.
Do you think that
Since the suspected suicide attempt
I am weird and not to be talked to ?
Well you don't know it but
I wasn't gonna harm myself !
It was just a way that I thought
I could get you to see me.
To understand I'm not one of those girls
With the all pink wardrobe
And no combat boots
And no black
Who can't fend for herself.
Well I guess that was a fail.
I should never have ever uttered the word
"Suicide"
Because it ****** up my whole **** life.
Nowadays you seem to be reserved around me
Always alert for anything wrong.
I appreciate that you care.
But it's not how I need it to be.
I need you to just be chill around me
Not be so cautious.
Please.
Let's fix this.
Now that you've read that
Are you creeped out ?
When I say
"I love you"
I mean that
You are just the one I want to hang out with
To be friends with
To call you mine.
Maybe without getting too serious.
I just want to be known as yours
And you to be known as mine.
You could say it's love
But it's not exactly love.
You get it ?
Gosh
I feel better now
But I need you to be there
For me to feel perfect.
Thank you.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 5:07 PM UTC
wisps
of
smoke
blown
into
the
wind
tattoo
piercing
pushing
a rock
over
a hill
a candle
a torch
a floodlight
a flamethrower
imaging
projecting
thinking
breathing
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
On this front there are many different views,
And when they are disputed sometimes they're ignited like a fuse.
Fire is thrown everywhere just like the propellant from a flamethrower Sides are taken and walls are built similar to Trump and a SpanishVoter.
Then there are the ones who choose no side
They believe that one person doesn't make a difference
But in the end, it is all of those single people who make up the world
They make up society, laws, government, and schools.
Now think to yourself and ask, "What if they're all corrupt?"
If they are, we are being slowly but surely poisoned with no hope to reconstruct.
- Just some food for thought.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC
I’ve lost my motivation to write. I’ve shared oceans of emotions to countless strangers, the Pacific runs deep, so does poetry. It’s ingrained into my veins, the poetic blood is running thin. I’ve given my mind to putting pen to paper, in the hopes of sharing what won’t be heard. I’ve screamed out my pains to crowds of has-beens, wanna-bes and random men buying their coffee. No body ever listens. A great poet once said; “listen to the words, never mind who says them.” How can you listen to my words, when I don’t even believe I’ve spoken? I’ve become tongue tied, I’m caught between the lines of false hope and empty pages. The somber truth is, I don’t know what to write about. All my scars have been shown, tears have dried up stage floors and self-drawn blood has been cleaned. What is left to write about when sadness is my motivator? Everything. I have more to write about then I ever did. I can share the moments that cleared my skin of all anguish , Times I sweat poor-appointed fears away. I can tell stories of when I banished a fire-breathing female that took my heart, cooked it like bacon. The only hope I have left is that it still tastes good to next elegant beauty that comes my way. I’m the sea of open ideas, an unquenchable desire to fill empty pages. I’m no longer caught in the web of words I trapped myself into. The broken promises of “I’ll write tomorrow” no longer exist, just sub-conscious here-say. Approaching from darkness, I whisper to my finger tips and pencils, here comes a new motivation. It’ll lead to sunny summer Sunday’s, rainbows follow thunderstorms. I wonder if the leprechauns left me the *** of gold. I won’t know until I set fire to my graphite flamethrower. So if you’ll excuse me, I must getting going, my words are getting hot, and I’m ready to write.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
Right I want you to put all your negative thoughts into a bottle.
What sort of bottle.
Doesn’t matter what sort.
***** bottle do.
Jesus, yes.
Okay I’ve ran out of room.
You’re so predictable.
Just like you last night, standards are dropping.
That’s because I knew you were coming for a session today.
Think how I feel, all my thoughts in a bottle of *****
Maybe I should hypnotise you.
How do I know you won’t interfere with me, you read about these things.
Take my word for it, I’m going to send you to sleep, then I’m going to join you.
How does that help me if we’re both asleep, you got a bit of telepathy going on here.
Yes, I’m going to put you into a trance, see if we can find you another guy.
What sort of guy are we talking about, I mean, I’ve already hit rock bottom with you.
Well in that case, we should be able to fix you up quite quickly.
I don’t know, what if he doesn’t understand my quirky sense of humour.
He’ll dump you then.
What, can he do that, just discard me, and me a broken woman already.
Afraid so, but then you can find another guy, and another.
My God, I’ll be the talk of the town, my bottle will be overflowing.
Just relax, breathe in, breathe out, stop doing that.
Doing what.
You’re thrusting your chest out, do you know what sort of guy that’ll attract.
Someone like you.
You don’t want to attract someone like me, you want someone dynamic, someone who’ll take you away from all this.
Have you got someone in mind.
Yes, I was talking to this nice chap in the Asylum yesterday.
Why is he in the Asylum.
He killed a snail.
My God, they put you in the Asylum for that.
No, he’s in for using a flamethrower.
What’s the snail got to do with it.
That was the trigger point.
So what happens if I upset him and it triggers something and he goes mad.
It won’t, I told him to put all his negative thoughts into your bottle.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
I think of someone with a flamethrower when I think of you.
Burning the world,
Yet making it colder too.
I almost want him to.
Why do I want this?
I'm an idiot,
Filled up with options.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
More certain than death and taxes
You spun me right off of my axis
Congratulations, that's the fastest
My heart has ever been reduced to ashes
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
The tongue flicks blame like a flamethrower
each lick burns another scar.
In the backyard of eternity where mistakes can go to breed
there's a need for need and the needing needles me in the backyard of eternity.
I walk barefoot in the sand where once stood a king that ruled the land,
Ozymandias was always planned or is that something you didn't know?
And the roar of the waves drown the sorrow as we drink to old friends for whom
the day always ends
in the registration of another tomorrow.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 12:26 AM UTC
It's during restless nights such as these when my mind is at its optimum state
Where I am able to tap into my psyche to excavate emotions and notions once frozen like nitrate
I feel the temperature rising
Becoming irate
The flamethrower steady mediating while it patiently waits
It has me excited but also afraid
Like tight roping a bridge thats charging a toll I can't afford to pay
Or knowing I overdosed on a drug with no antidote
In order to coast its euphoric waves
Causing my heart to quit its job and my pupils to dilate
As Im dethrone from my throne and thrown inside a crate
To be placed to sleep for an eternity in a tumulus grave
But I smile because they see me as resting
When my soul is wide awake
Even though my body is stiffer then a new pair of shoes
I can spend all day seeking for the truth inside the truth
But I'm terrified of the journey and what I might loose
And the answers
Fearing the exposure and what it could prove
Do I have a halo or horns?
Or maybe both of the two?
I need to swim deeper
So I do
Until my lungs fill with water up to the brim
And burn with white fire hotter then fallen seraphim
But I continue to breast stroke into the abyss
Past the wine jars
The greek paintings
Past cities more lost then the city of atlantis
Past the treasures of the galleon of San Jose
And into the door way of what was took off display
And this will be the place where I will drown
In exchange for discovering what was never meant to be found
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 2:54 AM UTC
****** XL - All Guitar Flamethrower Guy
Mad Max Fury Road OST Music Mix;
i kiss my cat goodnight...
**** me should i be found kissing
your forehead goodnight...
atheism would seem rather simple;
i tend to think of myself as the guitarist,
adding to the fact that i'm head-banging
adding to the rhythmic section;
and if you gonna be ******
you might as well be ****** with me:
K **** U C (https://goo.gl/LAI8R9)
and a leather crown on my head...
for added stretch marks
kindred of Pompeii goosebumps;
yep, and i'll be next to put a happy meal
between my legs to slice out
an Atari's solo worth of programming
and football and Turk vizier's backgammon;
like i ******* care.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
Burn down the ice caps over my eyes
Your flamethrower love is powered by lies
Scorching the earth in search of the truth
I'm proven guilty without the proof
I search for the entrance of the maze in your heart
But the bigger journey, so far, is just finding where to start
From the hip
A tragic slip
Yet you still don't remember me
One shot
Not for naught
But it doesn't make me bleed
Like a fly
On your eye
Though it's something you can't see
But a glitch -
A phantom itch
Just one is all I'd need
We're free
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
You left me at the doorstep,
Packed all my **** and left,
You did me *****
Again ,again and again
Ride or die,
I never was,
One and only,
Nope I never was,
You shoot your words like a flamethrower ,I barely finish my sentences,
You accept beating me,
Not once but twice,
With the sharp cutlasses ,
I don’t even care anymore because I love you,
But love should not hurt when I touch you...
I’m alone again.
Domestic abuse is never ok you should never feel alone :tel:08082000247
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 6:31 PM UTC
I imagine you’re sitting there. Listening intently. Hanging onto every word until the next one comes along. There are bottles on the counter and nobody cares what time it is.
A mist of existential reconciliation permeates the room and that ****** candle just will not die. Your eyes are doing that thing again. Where the spirit of the one caught by them, longs to throw itself to their mercy.
You’re going to smile and the room might as well fold in on itself because nothing else will matter at that moment. The moon tries so hard to get a glimpse but the blinds are pulled.
And I, the wretched Hop Frog (it’s a Poe reference), clawing away at my chest from another world away. Desperately trying to get at my heart, if for no other reason than to prove that it’s there.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 6:34 AM UTC
The spider has chosen her lair. A mere tangle of branches, she alone realizes the potential held. Thread by thread, the foundations are woven.
An inch.
The fruit of her first hour of labor is a mere speck within the cage of twigs. The removal of even a single thread would unravel all. Despite the fragility of her creation, she persists.
Two inches.
Without pause, she brings forth the creation as it is held within her mind. A fly, without warning, smashes into the framework. But her web holds strong, and the fly is promptly wrapped and set aside.
Four inches.
No longer insignificant or fragile, the expansion of her dream continues unabated. Its full complexity known only to her, the web spreads not only wide but deep. A labyrinth, from which the only escape is to be wrapped and set aside.
One foot.
Her tiny body is dwarfed by the scale of the construction, yet her pace still quickens. Each thread wrapped around countless branches, each branch twisted and bent. The core shifts in color as a beam of sunlight attempts to penetrate to the ground below.
Ten feet.
A bird flies into the web, and its motion is abruptly arrested. The inexorable spider crawls onto the bird, ignoring the sheer difference in size. The bird's wings are stretched apart by the threads added, a flag and a warning.
Thirty feet.
The sunlight catches the ever-expanding structure as it twists in the wind. Distressed chirping, croaking, buzzing, a symphony of pain. At the center of it all, she weaves on.
One hundred feet.
The surrounding greenery is shrouded in a wispy cloud which blocks the sun. People, terrified by the sudden appearance, gather to witness it, uncomprehending. A child stumbles into the web, and the spider pulls its limbs apart.
One quarter mile.
The heavy tan trucks roll in, the area long since cordoned off and any trespassers removed. The lever is tested, and the fuel line is connected, before the device is ignited. The flamethrower operator lets loose a jet of liquid heat. The web burns to ashes in mere minutes, taking with it all the limbs and wings. The buzzing, persistent cacophony of pain is replaced by a rising crackle.
Zero.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 11:21 AM UTC
We met in August, and became fast friends.
Eventually you grew a garden for me, filled with roses and daisies, any kind of flower you can imagine.
That garden grew. It was beautiful.
You occasionally hinted at the fact that you grew a garden for me, but you never told me directly.
I knew there was a garden there.
I grew one for you too. But it was too late.
I said your garden hints made me queasy. That was before my garden grew.
You decided to take out a flamethrower, and burn your garden to the ground, just as my roses started to bloom. It didn’t hurt you.
I told you about my garden. You didn’t like it.
You say you can’t grow things. You say you’ve done it too many times with it ending up wilting.
Yet now you’ve grown a garden for another person.
And mine is wilting. I need water.
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC