"fledgling" poems
Why am I so dif-fer-ent?
They say I’m out of touch.
Why am I, ple-nar-ily sad?
This life it hurts so much.
And why do they come, come every day?
Shush, quiet now, they’re here.
Those awful tormentors of my soul all cackling and queer!
Whirling head of spinning revolutions,
…feel my stomach ache and pang.
Why will they not leave me alone?
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I shouldn’t always feel like this, feel such solemn pain,
…troubling and trouble is these birds are driving me insane!
I’m screaming now! I’m mad with rage! Throwing ice cubes at my deck,
“Go away! Yes, go away!” -their numbers must be kept in check.
Blackhole-whirl, flying twirling darkness, their funnel it points to me-e-e-e-!
For too many is too painful and my mind’s a constant wreck!
One cannot think with those infernal be-e-e-asts,
...and the crazy song they sang.
Why do they so punish me?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I know they serve the Saturn’s wheel and now they’ve come for me.
What did I do? Oh what great sin, oh the blackbirds from within;
The Abyssimal Sea?
Their whirlpool funnel is all around, as my harried soul, it expiates.
I’m done-in; I’m over now, a sorely victim of the Fates!
They took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
Why could they not leave me alone?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
If you find yourself all alone and mired in their thought,
…do not think, extirpate, all the human damage that you’ve wrought.
His flock of fledgling melancholy musical formation,
…will take you away and straight to Hell; the Seventh Circle congregation!
For they took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
And they will not leave you alone.
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang. *
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
Bound, wound, and tied up all tight
With porcelain features, I drowned in her sight
Dominant I control her, she submits to my needs
I punish and tease her with preferences of sinful greed
Bound, wound, and tied up all tight
She lashes and thrashes but I control this fight
Blindfolded and gagged, aroused from my touch
Candle drips between her hips; she loves this so much
Strapped to the bed with a fistful of her mane
She enjoys pain and pleasure; I love this **** game
Bound, wound, and tied up all tight
My fledgling fun toy I command her tonight
She moans with pleasures and screams when she’s bad
Electricity attached, her fears makes me glad
Vaginal to **** play, or no *** at all
A new ******* kit arrives; I’m bouncing off the wall
Bound, wound, and tied up all tight
Under the bed restrains, ****** clamps, and leather cuffs in my sight
She’s cuffed, restrained, clamped and all ready
She needs me it feeds me and keeps me rock steady
She gives me her all in suspended animation
Together we are driven by a powerful lustful twisted sensation
For Bound, wound, and tied up all tight
You’re my favorite present, my fix, and my all through the night
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
So young, He engraved the Law in your fledgling heart,
Covering your mind with the depth of His wisdom.
Why, no language exists that could translate its art!
Hopeless to assess its perfect scale and freedom.
The Law is His breast milk you sip fervently,
Howl in agony; your stomach digest it not.
Fathom submission, son of depravity,
To merely **** is short; apply what has been taught.
Sets of teeth sprouted in your gums like white pebbles,
Overdose with confidence, sleep without a sword.
Stars in the woods they seem, Alas! Wild, wild eyes of wolves!
Fight the fine fight of faith, shine light on the world.
A state of armed conflict, His Law against your Flaw,
Just a streak of insanity in the family.
Epitome of crossed swords, yet who will win in awe?
Glitch in your body, vow in its supremacy."
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
AMBIGRAM VIII
Recto:
Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s tring is slackened:
Verso:
Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,
the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,
its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise
your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of
rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.
AMBIGRAM
Recto:
Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s tring is slackened:
Verso:
Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,
the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,
its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise
your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of
rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.
AMBIGRAM
Recto:
Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s tring is slackened:
Verso:
Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,
the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,
its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise
your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of
rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.
AMBIGRAM
Recto:
Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s tring is slackened:
Verso:
Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,
the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,
its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise
your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of
rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 3:26 PM UTC
He speaks the language of flowers
Quietly toiling in his garden
Digging, raking and smoothing soil,
Gently coaxing nature to match his vision.
He knows the bees, spiders, beetles, worms and earwigs
Regarding them as friends.
He follows seasons, moon and stars
As others do people
Enthralled at the changes they bring.
He listens as the birds sing
Watching with joy as
Fledgling take wing.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
As our dreams expand
We take flight to new territories
Soaring higher above the ground
Embracing the world between our wingspan
Looking down from dizzying heights
Once nurtured as a fledgling
Lest we not forget the ones who believed in us
One day we can soar higher
Flying at higher altitudes
We can be the ones to give wings to future dreams
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
Promise me, my flesh you'll place
'neath a fledgling willow tree.
And as it grows toward blue sky,
It's in its grace you'll hear me cry.
Laden with the heaviest fears,
resembling, reflecting
my darkest years.
A fragile bone was once my arm,
so likened to the willows charm.
It's branches delicate,
could ne'er do harm.
It's soft and fluffy hand like bud,
encased in skin, the willow's wood.
Hold its hand at branches end.
My message, a vibration,
to you I'll send.
Until the death of said willow tree,
reminding you . . . . .
. . . . . . always of me.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
Life has been a rollercoaster
since the winter solstice passed.
Venturing through tribulations hoping fledgling love would last.
Seeking out each others’ dreams and stumbling forth at times
(but then)
Reaching for the outstretched hand that puts all faith in love again.
Learning about one another, lips oft locked and pulses swift.
Anchoring steadfast emotions once thought hopelessly adrift.
Quiet moments give contentment, hands entwined, so warm and true.
Visions of the future me loving the future you.
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 8:59 AM UTC
it is like the many nights
sleepless
intone of light
on the tiled floor
and surreptitiously
under the
influence
wringing out poems
while looking
at
8th and 7th street
fondling darkness
like virgins on
the absolute
a mutiny of
dead cigar butts on the
corner as "kuya Louie"
passes by with a wrench
half-drunk with "Emperador"
half-mad with ars poetica.
other sense of self
somewhere brash and brazen
awash with modern
sensibilities
as this night deepens
whiter like the color
of new bones
to fledgling movements,
just like any other night.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
Who knows what stops the heart of a song
I take note
of tiny thud—
robin in the wheel well of my car
the limp head
of a cat’s prey
sigh of wings
defrocked by power lines
baby starling’s fledgling flight
falling short of a pond’s edge
The slate morsel unearthed
by the tines of my rake
…and the world is vacant for a moment
Grief ***** a womb of air
but how it lives— I cannot say
Upended creature of us
Stops the throbs that herald life
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
i was reborn, like a phoenix
but without all the glory.
i didn't set the hospital on fire; i struggled
to pull myself from the ashes
of a former prodigy,
one entwined with madness
in all the right ways
laced with misery like a noir heroine,
so sexily depressing-
whereas now i am just empty
i did not emerge unscathed, no,
not like the fledgling, i
am covered in scars and faultlines from where
the sorrow tried rip itself
from my sorry body
and the crimson glue holding me together
replenishes itself more diluted each time
before i died
i swung through technicolor
episodes of scarlet, rose,
ecstatic white, and the
sapphire blue to haunt my dreams
waking and at night
but the color leached away,
the antiseptic began to pervade, refilled my veins
and purged me of everything but grey.
before my death,
i reigned over the darkness, banished it
when it did not suit me,
manipulated reason, lived in a waking dreamland,
in complete control of my life-
but now, when i am fragile as eggshell,
it's the only place i can hide,
a haven where i can act like the lack of light
masks an imagined vivacity and not a skeleton in flat black and white,
disguises and emboldens me,
allows me to be whole again,
to forget the borders, my limitations
indiscernable in dusk
i used to cast my own light-
now i am my own shadow
and in the dark i fumble for
what i used to be,
reconnect myself with the world
throw myself from the cliff
and hope to find my wings again
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:41 PM UTC
I'm sorry to be childish
But when you treat me like a child
I can't believe you expect
All the responsibility of an adult
But the obidence of a dog
Show where your trust lies
That you raised me right
Clearly you have doubt in that
Have you taught me nothing?
Have you learned nothing either?
I demand my answers now
I am no longer your fledgling child
So treat as an adult
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
*On a sidewalk
a fateful fall..
Over this dead one
two persons meet:
One wishes a disposal
quiet and away
from trafficking feet..
The other with a kick
and quick disregard
of this morning moment's
sudden dark streak..
A brief encounter
two teachers
on her path..
Each holding a mirror
for the other...*
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Admitted to taking the reduced ruling
Fourteen souls accepted what this is after
All
Of this...
Immediately unavailable to face Sunday's showdown at
The Stadium.
The Titan gave assurances to the souls today.
It will not take any further action
-Despite the deal-
But their identity is still unknown
Some suggesting only retired evidence.
Hand in hand with sickness,
The hound (who is widely regarded)
Appears to prove why force
In recent years
Did indeed highly fancy tomorrow's feature;
"The Winner".
The hound first knew his fledgling
When he could finally be on the road
While his empire expanded
"I used to hope for the best"
Titan tells us.
"I used to have a while and
I used to get sick.
Now I just have to find a way
To use up that time.
I speak only to the Landlord
And his tenants.
I only blame myself for the sickness.
All I know is where I've come from
...At least, I think so...
...I hope so."
"It's a funny thing!"- Hound.
*Pressure keeps you honest.
Wet, heavy conditions expected tomorrow.
So, with everything said,
I wish you peace and love.
Love is waiting.*
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
Chickens live
within a coop
Scratch and peck
in their own ****
Their nests are
low down to the earth
They scream and squack
for all they're worth!
Afraid of storms
they have no dreams
Afraid of everything
it seems!
Their young are squabs
Their eggs are beaten
*In the end
they are eaten!*
Eagles build their
lofty nests
So their chicks
will withstand tests
They are made with
rugged sticks
So in the end
they pinch and *****
They line their nests
like softest cloud
When baby's grown
they pull it OUT!
The center nest
no longer soft
Babe sits on edge...
AND IS KNOCKED OFF!
Should, in flight,
the fledgling lack
Mom will catch it
on her back!
The little eaglet
has to try
So in the end
*they learn to fly!*
Eagles dream!
They are reborn!
They will fly into a storm!
Eagles wings
are built to *soar!
They will fly
FOREVERMORE!*
SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/3/2017
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
She sings to you,
and you know she has returned
with food once more.
She’d **** herself
to throw it back up
into your mouth,
where it will ruminate
in your stomach
until you fly.
It tastes of love and bile,
and you lap it up;
there are things
in this nest
that you cannot name.
You try to
creak out the word
nourishment
but the crackle
in your throat
makes you sing instead.
She wants the best for you.
And off she goes,
her elegance beating
hard against the wind,
wings angelic,
archangel to you
as you watch the vultures
pry their slick bodies
from the shadows.
Take them in,
their greasy rapture
hovering,
and you’ve never understood
circles, but you know now
that you hate them.
It’s a relief when she returns,
exhausted,
stomach full.
There’s more *****
and you would think,
if you could,
of what it must be like to die
alone.
Then, you fly.
You must.
You do.
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 7:33 PM UTC
i. descend
i've lost weight since we last met
we fit differently from before-
bird-thin, the both of us-
but this hollow in your feathered chest is
still where i feel most at home-
your jade eyes
a nest, to cultivate my happiness
i've been betrothed to the birds
you stayed back, earthbound
i fell, a cataract, from the red cliffs
you watched me sink, earthbound
i was ripped to shreds in the tundra
freezing and thirsty
and you listened instead to the flowers,
drowning me out as i whispered for help
they told you sunlight stories
when i was trapped in dusk
i was an inch from the edge of night
and you fled
so as to not be consumed.
ii. unpend
i know what i told myself-
i said i shed my mourning veil-
but i still weep for the morning lark,
your lightening song
haunting my brittle nightingale
i write you letters every night
with a fountain pen slathered in red ink
saying what i never could,
spilling my regret on the page
(wake up with ****** hands)
i should have known
you were no one to trust
you're just a fledgling
we're all so naïve.
iii. the end
i take flight, for brave is the man
who would leap from the bluff
to prove his worth;
for i can take action now-
i can say this now,
where before i sat on the sidelines
i will not wilt
in your arms
just for a moment
i will hold you tight
my prisoner
thank you for keeping me alive
i don't need that anymore
thank you for staying by my side
when i had eyes set to ****
thank you for helping me to ascertain
that i’m no phoenix
thank you for participating in
my stupid guessing games
you were the match
to ignite my nicotine habits
but now i'm the one who's
decided to spark and fade
green-eyes,
i've made a decision
and this time i'll stick with it-
featherlight now,
i will make my escape
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
...and there’s no one there to hear it,
does it make a sound?
________________________
My poetry performed—
before a crowd of johnny-jump-ups
Their faces toward me in unison—
they listen
Intense, motionless energy
Velvet applause of purple and
Yellow yelling!
Encore
of performing in the perfume
with a troop of lilacs
They will remember me
While I— await their return to May
through billowing miles
of drowsing sachet
breathing euphorias
between the lingerie of clouds
What happens after ecstasy?
Grieving in life’s presence?
Loss of mind to self-possession?
_________________
...and when my sense of smell gives out
I will hold on for a while
to the walker of hearing
trying not to stumble past
the song of thrush
beyond me in the blurring leaves
once so clearly—
crinkled, shiny, and infant green….
_____________
As a child I held on to nothing
for dear life
I could cup a storm in my hands!
Could run with the rhythm of a horse!
I could fly in my mind’s eye
if the ferns I used were only wings!
If I pretended hard enough
I could eat my own home-baked mud pies!
If only I could be—
more than a fledgling of eight
so earthbound, clumsy
_____________
But while the lilacs were out of town
thunder met the flash
and gutted summer!
I ran for dear life!
from the amazing distance of its echoes
pelted by its gentle gift
Snagged by growing things—
the clinging prattle
of their momentous tendrils....
______________
Lovers run off the path
past water lilies
along the swollen veins to the river
toward a grave and pounding heart
The Ancient Flood was jealous....
Now when the wind softens
and rain is tossed
last, and only from the leaves
may their encore be cupped in the hands
of some passer-by
Remembering—
that either because of a trifling wind
or the weight of time...
a tree fell here
clubbing the river’s bank senseless
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
Stars jostling whatever wishes
Nets cast upon heedless fishes
To do or not to do the dishes
Just is what is all this show biz
Putting flowers in a vase
Something that might give you pause
All that is and ever was
Much to much such harm caused
To be still and to never utter
Chrysalis' desire to ever flutter
Simple wanting and none the other
Bind a dream and watch it smother
How should Spring be so cruel?
Fledgling discarded as a fool
Not all adhere to golden rule
Who'll you'll find inferior saccule?
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
a mother bird taking care
of her newly hatched fledgling,
raising her with love and regurgitation,
and a gentle, inevitable push out
of familiarity
everything the baby bird knew
shot up-away, as
she was thrown,
she threw herself,
and the earth pulled her
into a world of novelty and insanity
and energetic love of change.
the baby bird flies to
her young fledglings,
ready to love and regurgitate,
and gently push
with love in mind
and flight in sight.
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 10:29 PM UTC
Glass divides
where the heart does not,
come inside,
sit beside me
in annex to this fledgling love,
spurn the sun,
in lieu of its warmth,
for the charm of
an intimate hideaway,
sweet somethings
I shall whisper into your ear,
until inner vibrations
have reached your core,
the view from here
speaks of gardens,
fountains, and holy ground,
I give them all to you
as trousseau,
so long as you agree
to dwell with me,
within a niche
of the imperishable lustre,
togetherness.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 12:50 PM UTC
This year was different
or was it me?
same Trafalgar crowds
link-armed-laughing
pigeons
puff-chested gluttons
different air
full of afterthoughts
I could almost touch
fluttering away
like rusting leaves
on winter's breath
I waited
on our bench
dark cold
stark old
wood
lovers kissed shyly
birds squawked
she laughed
eyes wide
flushed cheeks
Valentine's heart pounding
in a fledgling chest
I wondered if she were me
willing me to remember
hugging him close
I longed
to melt inside her happiness
old words, love and burger-boxes
where do they go?
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
Money money money money money ******* money. You think you’ll find happiness there. Happiness doesn’t buy you things, doesn’t take you out to dinner. Happiness doesn’t sit prettily on your finger or hang from your earlobes or rest around your neck. Happiness doesn’t have an engine and four wheels that takes you wherever you want to go. Happiness doesn’t add an extra comma or two to your bank account. Happiness doesn’t buy things to make you look beautiful or feel special.
Happiness holds your hand when you feel down. Happiness cooks for you when you can’t be bothered. Happiness tells you jokes and laughs at yours and when you make eye-contact, happiness keeps it and smiles back. Happiness tells you you’ll pull through. Happiness walks hand-in-hand into the darkness with you without any apprehension.
Happiness is a seed. You plant it and water it, watch as its roots take hold and the sapling breaks the surface. You nurture the fledgling stem as it grows over time into a huge and beautiful tree. It shelters you from the sun during summer and offers refuge from the snow in winter. It protects you from all the bad things. It gives and gives and gives unconditionally, asking nothing in return. It does not wander off to better climes. You will always find it exactly where you left it. It is your companion in an otherwise barren landscape.
But I am a dead tree, useless and ugly. I haven’t produced leaves in years. I offer no shelter, just shadows of possibilities on the ground. I harbour no birds. No deer eat my bark. I will fall and all around no ears shall hear. I am not your happiness nor anyone else’s. Just a mess of sticks, not even any use for firewood.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 7:02 AM UTC
I feel his eyes on me
Whenever I cross the room.
It is mostly when there are others
Present and we must share ourselves,
Expended over people
And places. The spaces
Before we fall into our wine stained
Non-marital bed. The grape blood reminds me
Of my own. On my own, fledgling ******* and acne,
Elaborately false *******
Where I would never have my fill.
A child-man I forgot.
Or remember only as a token,
Cardboard textured orange peel
In a breast pocket never worn. I forget
Most everyone
Now that he is
In my life. He obliterates
All else like light pollution.
Not of fluorescent neon or slogans
But an exploding star
That dims all else
In my peripheries. I am
Diminished also in his love,
Both wholesomely and then in a sense
Where I lose my ‘I’.
It is in his shadow
Where I live. Small comet
Hidden in the black of velvet,
Licked by the spit of his flames
That scald me
And bathe me
In equal measure.
I am more than this
I know. Or guess. His tailor hands
Though, are efficient and caring. They
Do not create me, but he threads himself
Into my sides
And drops a stitch
Only to adulate the rhythm
When he enters me. When he enters me
I become burgeoned and full and blood fills
The rusted roadways
That shine blue
Through my pasty prism.
He finishes. A gloom fills me. Not
A gloom, more of a nothing and he is
An obliterated star once more
And I his aftermath.
He has killed me with a kindness,
A ghost only when witnessed, kissed.
I have long since forgotten whether I have
Been taken prisoner
Or gave myself up.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
Soon, the weight of independence
will swat me from my day-dream
like a gnat from the sky.
For the life in the great beyond
is hell for the naive
and I am but a fledgling
in a lake of swans.
What have I learned about being human
and what must I still learn
before I am ******
into the void of 9-5
and ''car-pooling"?
I still dance beside the river
and swing in the park.
I still stay up to late
and sing too loud
to old songs from Disney.
And now society demands
that all of my future endeavors
will be decide by
some letters
that don't evaluate my worth
as a human being.
My entire life, present and future
have become rooted in knowledge
that contributes nothing
to my personality,
morality,
my goals as a
person.
(or is that no longer a relevant term?)
Freedom, Independence,
The American Dream.
And when I lay in my coffin
and reminisce
on the adventure that was life,
and how I touched lives
and solved personal issues,
rescued friends
from normality.
How I fought for the betterment
of a minority,
I will be glad I learned
Pythagorean Theorem,
Newton's Law.
I will smile coldly in my grave.
I shall thank the Lord
I went to college.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC