"fritz" poems
I wonder 'oo and wot 'e was,
That 'Un I got so slick.
I couldn't see 'is face because
The night was 'ideous thick.
I just made out among the black
A blinkin' wedge o' white;
Then biff! I guess I got 'im crack --
The man I killed last night.
I wonder if account o' me
Some ***** will go *****
And 'eaps o' lives will never be,
Because 'e's stark and dead?
Or if 'is missis damns the war,
And by some candle light,
Tow-headed kids are prayin' for
The Fritz I copped last night.
I wonder, 'struth, I wonder why
I 'ad that 'orful dream?
I saw up in the giddy sky
The gates o' God agleam;
I saw the gates o' 'eaven shine
Wiv everlastin' light:
And then . . . I knew that I'd got mine,
As 'e got 'is last night.
Aye, bang beyond the broodin' mists
Where spawn the mother stars,
I 'ammered wiv me ****** fists
Upon them golden bars;
I 'ammered till a devil's doubt
Fair froze me wiv affright:
To fink wot God would say about
The bloke I corpsed last night.
I 'ushed; I wilted wiv despair,
When, like a rosy flame,
I sees a angel standin' there
'Oo calls me by me name.
'E 'ad such soft, such shiny eyes;
'E 'eld 'is 'and and smiled;
And through the gates o' Paradise
'E led me like a child.
'E led me by them golden palms
Wot 'ems that jeweled street;
And seraphs was a-singin' psalms,
You've no ideer 'ow sweet;
Wiv cheroobs crowdin' closer round
Than peas is in a pod,
'E led me to a shiny mound
Where beams the throne o' God.
And then I 'ears God's werry voice:
"Bill 'agan, 'ave no fear.
Stand up and glory and rejoice
For 'im 'oo led you 'ere."
And in a nip I seemed to see:
Aye, like a flash o' light,
My angel pal I knew to be
The chap I plugged last night.
Now, I don't claim to understand --
They calls me Bonehead Bill;
They shoves a rifle in me 'and,
And show me 'ow to ****
Me job's to risk me life and limb,
But . . . be it wrong or right,
This cross I'm makin', it's for 'im,
The cove I croaked last night.
2.7k
My car is on the fritz
My girlfriend has the flu
My boyfriend can't talk to me
What am I to do?
I don't want marihuana
I don't want to drink
It's dead on Hello Poetry
What am I to think?
I'd listen to some music
Or maybe just chill out
I don't want to know
What the heck it's all about
Why should I be bored?
There are still the stars
I can play connect-the-dots
From Jupiter to Mars!
My lil 'magination
Is just like kodakrome
I can leave my body
Let my spirit roam...
But I'm just too lazy
It's all too much to take
So I guess I'll raid the fridge
And eat left-over cake.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 2:00 AM UTC
Five months on the front
Between Arras and Albert
Both sides hunt
For the other
Redcoats and Frogs side by side
Putting away their hate
Both filled with pride
To fight
Drain the Fritz of their resources
Push them back as far as they could
But the enemy observes
And are waiting
Huge frontal attack, approached on foot
Ordered by General Haig
The Germans stayed put
And killed from afar
July 1st was day one
November 18th was the last
When all the guns
Were dead
It was the bloodiest battle anyone saw
Over one million deceased
No mortal law
Ruled here
13 Kilometers were gained
Using tanks and heavy gear
Reserves were drained
Yet no one cared
Friends, fathers, husbands, brothers,
Fought and lost their lives
For the children, sisters, wives and mothers
Who were left behind
Only gravediggers make money here
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;
You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;
You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;
The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.
You're awful cold and ***** and a-cursin' of your lot;
You scoff the blushin' 'alf of it, so rich and rippin' 'ot;
It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:
God bless the man that first discovered Tea!
Since I came out to fight in France, which ain't the other day,
I think I've drunk enough to float a barge;
All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,
To *** they serves you out before a charge.
In back rooms of estaminays I've gurgled pints of cham;
I've swilled down mugs of cider till I've felt a bloomin' dam;
But 'struth! they all ain't in it with the vintage of Assam:
God bless the man that first invented Tea!
I think them lazy lumps o' gods wot kips on asphodel
Swigs nectar that's a flavour of Oolong;
I only wish them sons o' guns a-grillin' down in 'ell
Could 'ave their daily ration of Suchong.
Hurrah! I'm off to battle, which is 'ell and 'eaven too;
And if I don't give some poor bloke a sexton's job to do,
To-night, by Fritz's campfire, won't I 'ave a gorgeous brew
(For fightin' mustn't interfere with Tea).
To-night we'll all be tellin' of the Boches that we slew,
As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.
2.2k
Introduction
I stroll through green fields and realise I am home.
I bump against soft sandalwood: a fence –
And hang my head and weep
For Ginsberg, Whitman, and all the other cats clawing for tender acceptance
Strolling through ashen fields in rainbow night
Tugging on tender trestles of old mother crop of hair south
Casting to sky thine eye as black and white lights
Of rainbow night do fizzle and pop and – Oops!
Great incomparable fusion atom generator on the fritz
Once more the Centre of Cosmos choking and clouded with splutter.
As thine eye doth dissolve and revolve and resolve and see, from vantage point on high:
O Hell! O Eternal abyss of Chiaro-night, I am surrounded!
Thy Holy field lies cut and sliced by old tree corpses – lined up in terrible order by tender hand imbued
Thou might turn and run and screech impaled or whisp inhaled by gasping trees, by dying trees, by dead trees who breathe.
And spat upon the lawn whence thou were born,
No matter the crop nor scenery.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
After the painting by Fritz Von Uhde (1848 – 1911)
Sophie is twelve
Hanna thirteen
dear pinafored girls both
home from school
this summer afternoon
they sit knee to knee
but far enough away
from mothers’ chatter
at tea on the terrace.
The girls have gossip of their own
to share and talk is ten
to the dozen (and more)
whilst Hanna turns the pages
of a story book (with pictures):
a woodcutter’s daughter
a handsome young squire
ensnared with love
by a magiced white owl
there’s a castle by a lake
an endless forest dark
a mountainous domain
so far away so long ago.
Poised in the doorway
of their teenaged years
our girls imagine
the courteous attentions
of uniformed cadets
who one day soon
may very well sit
at the garden table
in the dappled shade
and silently gaze with longing
on their oh so delicate charms.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
You leave the apostrophes to someone else, I can't even make it in to 'im', instead I'm writing papers about the Oneida and Jonestown murders.
The television is on, the air purifier
is dying. I can hear the ***** fan belt of my laptop on the fritz or the fizzy bubbles of
The Cranberry Redbull that I'm trying.
I could be a great sport. Ya know, anything you want.
Jump to.
Make the Miso soup, clear off the kitchen table, buy brand new markers with no recent pictures drawn into their nibs.
Throw in comfy pants. I don't know what else I have to offer, a clean bath? Some books? A magazine?
The weather is exciting, we could call get Pneumonia or at least share a drink and catch Hep-C,
Put our children together to catch the gift of Shingles. A motorcycle toy for my Uritis it is better. The roses from the sweater paired with leather, leggings, and a kick *** song. Inside we can talk about his hair cut and going to California. I'm intimidated by you moreover when you tell me you can eat airplanes with only your bare hands. And even if I'm a bore, I still have Streptococcus. So seal and deliver. My cerulean goddess, with the best, thank thank you for the nightmare fever you stole from the words I wrote. And at the end of your book you don't have to cop out and fall along a crippled sky. With crippled words, verbs, and losers. Score cards of different colors. Tunics proud as the walk to the river we voted from Baptism to demon-voter. Stand and deliver, flora and fauna that threatens to eat our home.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
its not filthy
its just unappealing
its just the grooves
the places between the melody
that desperately need a cleaning
the tune no longer resonates
the tone dull
and crackly
its has nothing to do with
amplification
or projection
its the source material that fails me
im no good at this
at a loss for tools
which could make completely clear
the soaring voice that is love
impassioned and dedicated
but they are contained
within the outmoded technology
wax or vinyl
it could be
though
that my table is just on the fritz
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
My dad lost his arm to cancer.
He was 61 years old,
did he let that get him down?
Heck NO...
The day he came home from the hospital
minus one shoulder and arm,
he jumped on his bike and rode
it down to our house,
which was a long block away.
balance, how did he do it?
Dad was always included in
all our neighborhood parties.
if he was sitting in my backyard,
he would be drinking a cup of coffee
with Jim, my husband.
If he was sitting in my neighbor Dennys backyard
he would be drinking a beer
with Denny.
Dad worked as a machine repairman
with out his arm for two more years.
Because he was good.
Dad bowled two times a week with one arm,
and he walked out at the Park
the days he didn't bowl.
My amazing dad, with one arm and no shoulder,
built my kitchen cupboards,
put up a ceiling in the basement,
build doll houses for my daughter
and the neighbor girl,
and also one for a church raffle.
My dad went to church every Sunday,
and when he was so ill,
the nun would visit dad and mom,
mom would play the *****
beer barrel polka,
while the nun and my dad danced.
He was known by many, taught kids
how to bowl, including my son.
AND HE IS MISSED BY ALL....
This is a tribute to my daddy
named Fritz....
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY...
by ~ judy
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
Drinking allnight just to get right.
She claims she never but it sure dont seem tight.
Im half off the wagon but I just went for the ride
Passed out at the keyboard found out a friend called hello died.
Went to the funeral what did I see.
A ****** new place it did appear to me.
One for the road okay i took the case.
Hopped in the coffin.
felt like i just came back from outter space.
If your camper's rockin.
Better hope your husban dont come a knockin.
cause bulletes leave ya sore.
So just hide in the floor.
Cause if your dead it's pretty tuff to get some more.
I like beer and poetry what else did ya think i'd say.
like a kid throwin rocks at a hornet's nest
nest with danger i will always play.
Im guessing my wife must be outta school.
Honey you can ride the bus for free.
No need to blow the teacher and being he's the janitor it's not really cool.
I like beer and pushing the envelope what can i say.
just cause you like to snuggle on fishing trips
people call ya gay.
I write like a demon sometimes i even think.
When did God invent *******
Come on lets mix a drink.
Cartoons are great ever watch fritz the cat?
got busted last week trying to spend some alone time.
guees it's not cool to **** off in a laundrymat.
Wow im so impressed okay maybe not.
Love the new site.
Wonder if the new designer on his meds
are really doesnt care to think alot.
Wonder if my new will stay.
I love beer and poetry
What else did you ***** little hamsters really think i'd say?
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 8:25 AM UTC
(Read in your best British accent)
Well what can’t I say
Of the so called Baylo Brits
Their weird, crazy, and wild
Smoking herb, and jiggling ****
They giggle and laugh
Acting all so very pip
They’re ****** wankas they are
Especially Fritz and Kip
Not from England
Though they do have a friend named Jack
Witty as hell the blokes really be
Its just sanity they seem to lack
First Hannah said **** off
She’s a lovely poppet of a girl
And all this first came about
As they passed around, a pearl
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
I found a man of great Tilly stock,
And asked him for a frilly walk,
Unto which he said he’ll tell
The way to Heaven and the way to Hell.
“Pimply weaves of basket bread,
And a golden goose upon the head;
Let it squawk with plumpy feathers
With that you’ll relinquish worldy tethers.”
Frowned up in loofy days,
“Sir tell me of your ghangly ways!”
I loosed and cried; simply confused
“Worry not my sun and moon your muse!
For water is a half-penny to a tree,
And snickle-snacks don’t sell for free.
Yet if you must know of my tale,
Then sit there yonder and make a trail.”
However Sir, I am not meek
I have no cunning for the week.
“Your tale I do not wish to know,
Simply tell me which way to go!”
Crimpets high and yellow traps,
“You’ll lose yourself with the bats.
Go up; go down with nickle fritz,
Beware to lose yourself upon the blitz
For in rush and haste there in gleeb,
Wear ignorance for the trancy steed.
I let loose of many brumble yunk,
To sail for seas I never thunk
Yet wax and wane for waves ah-do,
And loose bracknees in multitude.
Traverse tall grass and shundy groves
And you’ll lose those things you thought you loathe.”
“My oh my old man I sigh,
For those things be near nor nigh.”
And with that I give my sullen reply
And turned and a bid a fair goodbye.
Yet upon reminiscence I bade in lye,
And whim my eye not to cry.
For in the tall tale of thy,
Taught I was to live; not die.
Question not a method sly.
But he mumbled and grumbled,
Though he never stumbled.
Living for him he never frumbled.
Many days he spent catching geese,
Upon a head knit with fleece.
OH! I should have let him talk; not cease
For to iron a book you can use yeast.
Heaven to Hell dived by two,
Heed the old man and crux with yew.
And ewe and ewe will catch the flu
Sheep don’t lead in a society so true.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
Words sworn over a lifetime in both action and deed
Pledges to stand side by side, no matter where the path may lead
Family, neighbors, classmates, teams, roommates, soldiers, and co-workers each
Who knows just where and how far back the bonds of time may reach?
It’s hard to describe what pulls us in and lights the spark
Maybe it’s shared things we’ve done, or grasping for a hand in the dark?
Times when we have no idea what to do or say
And rely on someone new to help guide our way.
Whether it’s for life’s major milestones or just good times with a kink
Like seeing that first skin rag, or being given an underage drink
Or helping you drop a class with untrue initials quickly signed
Those are the people all of us secretly like to find
Why? It’s not just for the excitement or a quick little thrill
It’s because someone finally sees us the way few others ever will
And when they need your help you almost always agree
Because inside you know, “They will do the same for me.”
But be careful not to overstress yourself
Like a pile of books on an overstocked shelf
For almost without fail at some point over the years
They will push you right to the brink of tears
It may not be with unkind words or a shattering of trust
Each wanting the same lover and fighting down lust
Priorities change as days go forward; in that there is no crime
Hour long conversations may condense to “Sorry, bad time”
Our reaction to these moments is the important thing to see
Each one is individual, just like you and me
Do we accept the change and laugh when we are able?
Or is it forever on the fritz like a downed TV cable?
If the latter is what you decide
Try not to be bitter at the end of the ride
But if you are, remember, as anger and resentment teems
The good old days weren’t always good and tomorrow ain’t as bad as it seems
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
Red and Green can bleed together
Short quick flashes
Of Green spark my heart
And I dive into another world.
I often think it's like a green traffic light on the fritz.
Sadly, I forget this new world
Is based on the rules made way back in reality.
I want my own little world I discovered years ago.
I want to drown myself the murky muddy puddle of it.
I have found knowledge is deadly for some.
The up lifting emotions
Soon will turn to dread.
And the green flashes will slowly turn red.
My insides itch and my feet beg my mind to trigger a switch.
Then my heart drops like cement.
This is when I decided I've had enough
And I hit delete
Until the mix of Red and Green begin to bleed together once again.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
A cold has put me on the fritz, said Eugene O'Neill,
how can I forget certain things?
Now I have thirteen bottles of red wine
where once I had over a thousand.
I know where they went but why should I tell?
Every day I feed the dogs and birds.
The yard is littered with bones and seed husks.
Hearts spend their entire lives in the dark,
but the dogs and birds are fond of me.
I take a shower frequently but still
women are not drawn to me in large numbers.
Perhaps they know I'm happily married
and why exhaust themselves vainly to ****** me?
I loaned hundreds of thousands of dollars
and was paid back only by two Indians.
If I had known history it was never otherwise.
This is the song of the cold when people
are themselves but less so, people
who haven't listened to my unworded advice.
I was once described as "immortal"
but this didn't include my mother who recently died.
And why go to New York after the asteroid
and the floods of polar waters, the crumbling
buildings, when you're the only one there
in 2050? Come back to earth.
Blow your nose and dwell on the shortness of life.
Lift up your dark heart and sing a song about
how time drifts past you like the gentlest, almost
imperceptible breeze.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
This bed is a comfort,
Much like the sounds of used water
flowing through ninety-year-old pipess,
Soothing me,
while the sounds of the city
are brooding inside of me,
and it’s the same.
It may be the pinnacle
of 1922, pre-collapse Providence,
but it’s the same.
It may be different,
but it’s just the same,
And that's just the way it is
So I cool this brain that's on the fritz
And do my best to keep sane.
The wallpaper is interactive
and there's an infinitude
of pigeons on a television screen
that is worth more than my apartment,
and it’s still the same.
The rug is soaked just the same,
the lingering odor of feet is the same,
and I can feel all the ghosts of guests
from the last century trying to,
dying to speak to me
and through me,
and it’s the same.
The way the sun rises makes me feel like
I have no cause to be awake or asleep,
but I’m awake,
and it’s the same.
The stress of lost cigarettes,
and the blame of untapped digresses into unnecessary depths
is the same.
The way I’m viewing the start
of this day that hasn't yet
is the same,
and it’s a shame.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
Your brain is plugged and foggy;
Your mind is on the freaking fritz;
The poetry is lost and boggy;
You hold your pen in woolen mitts.
Try a senryu about your life
Or a haiku on the froggy pond;
Cut through bloc de l'auter with a knife,
And slog out of the slough, Despond.
Sometimes it helps to focus long
On a single spot on the wall of life
And see what image comes along...
(I like to think of my pretty wife).
This writer's block's a funny thing
Tied somehow to the lives we lead,
And sterile writers need a fling
To let their stubborn poems breed.
So walk a while, or take a Jeep;
Visit the county fair...
Milk a cow or shear a sheep;
Wear flowers in your hair.
Or be like me and go take a nap;
Read a good book, or call an old friend;
Some poems are babies not yet in the lap,
Developing elsewhere, somewhere in the When....
Be sure they'll show up when they're ready to shine;
They'll trip off your fingers; they'll flow like red wine;
They'll sparkle or spark, or they'll whimper and cry,
But your poems will arrive, and I'm telling no lie.
Be patient, Good Allys..., the block's not an end,
Your poems are waiting ahead, 'round the bend.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
Invested trust, so poorly spent,
Even the stars have somehow bent.
Crippling doubt, head has a glitch.
Agony thrives, heart's on the fritz.
Relentless gripe, slow to succumb.
Desolate soul, coming undone.
Chartered chaos, hanging the noose. Afflicted love, won't cut me loose.
Demise of dreams, spoken too soon.
You, my love, did not hang the moon.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
I think I like writing because it’s another distraction from those feelings I try so hard to outrun. For a short while I have a purpose and I can feel as though someone is listening to me. Someone can hear me. But of course I’m just talking to myself really. That’s all this is. Me trying to comfort myself. And the thought of that saddens me more than I could have anticipated.
My life is an indie drama that no one’s ever watched. It collects dust on the bottom of the shelf along with the other VHS tapes that are no longer of use to the video store… by this point I’m sure you’re beginning to grasp what kind of mood I’m in. Introspective. Deeper in thought than I’d care to be.
As I now will myself not to cry I have the urge to walk down the hall, through the kitchen to my dad’s room and wake him up just so I can have him hold me for a few moments. So I can remember what it’s like to be comforted by someone other than myself. Someone that hardly has the choice to love me. Would he hold me? Let me cry briefly perhaps? Or would he turn me away before I plead my case? This could seem like a cruel response, but I too have been cruel so maybe it would be my karma.
I know it’s hard for him to see me in a fritz. It makes him feel uncomfortable. Something he can’t fix. I just want him to be my dad for two minutes. Then I could shuffle back to my bedroom, slip into bed and drift in and out of sleep. I don’t know when my dad and I became so afraid of each other. Our relationship is now that of two roommates that don’t really care for the others company. It’s as if I woke up one day and realized I was homeless, yet ironically living in the home of my father. The separation we’ve built up between each other serves as an emotional wall so we can’t hurt each other. Those are two things we’ve both become experts on – hurting each other and building walls.
It’s strange the way all these feelings well up inside me all of the sudden. I was able to keep them at bay all day, keeping busy at work. In fact I had a great day – even making a decent amount in tips. I keep torturing myself. This self-mutilation only seems to worsen.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
Your warm embrace is one I miss
This snowy December day
And though my brain is on the fritz
And yours a sim'lar way
Your warm embrace is all I miss
This cold, December day.
I close my eyes and harken back
To when I held you last.
My brain is warm, no longer black
Lit by thoughts of our past.
No matter what we seem to lack
Our love is meant to last.
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
I remember cooking for two. Last Sunday afternoon,
the stove light hit the fritz. Same bulb I ******* in the night before you called it quits.
By Tuesday, the burner I simmered onions on
had begun to rust away.
Wet metal tears,
as I sacrificed the dish we loved to the microwave.
Round and round it went. Watching, as the plastic peeled and bent;
remember treating you with the same contempt.
Left with soggy slop and goo; starved for love,
I eat my heart out with a spoon.
Jun 5, 2021
Jun 5, 2021 at 1:46 AM UTC
The dryer died today
followed by, the four slice toaster
There can be, just no way
as belly up, the electric roaster
My oven is on the fritz
my fridge just doesn't work
Car is giving me the fits
hope, I'm not sounding like a ****
Made in China or Taiwan
quality, that's sorely lacking
Mower broke, can't mow the lawn
my devices, they've been hacking
It's got to be by design
the breakage, and destruction
I don't really mean to whine
maybe, it's a problem, in production
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
My infatuation meter is
on the fritz
It hasn't worked
since the reading of you
When I come in contact
with others,
no sort of result is
produced
The spark inside
has finally died,
and you're the one who drenched it
in crocodile tears -- claiming you're too weak
to face your fears...it's like looking
at a reflection of
myself this year...
We could have battled them all
together
But instead we're settled to
friends of fair-weather
I am the one who is suffering;
for
still today, you appear
in my dreams
Decades from now,
I envision my
solitary conquest:
Success;
from recording my innards
I've always repressed
And of course,
an unfilled void, I fear not
to attest
All because that spark
inside me remained
unaddressed
But I have no more patience
or time to invest
in a folly; I'll rid
of my broken meter I
now detest
It died with you, now perhaps
your memory too
may be finally
laid to rest
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 9:46 PM UTC
The longest word in the English language
Is also the shortest, stupidest and most solid word.
it was Invented in 1500 and something by a young William Shakespeare
He actually discovered it on the back of a packet of chewin' tobacco.
Somewhere amidst the indigenous ingredients
So , the ****** actually plagiarized
the world's most funkiest,
fearsome word
Claimed it as his own work
Copyrighted it
And made a **** load of money
Made a truck load too
Yes I know, trucks didn't exist in his Era
But ****** did
Male ones
Ugly, uneducated, unnerving ones
Ones from the back alleys of nowhere
who dressed as ladies then as guys
But their disguise was hideously, horrible
I mean, 'ideously 'orrible
No "H's " for those fine, fortunate, fellows
And I will be criticised for my use of the english language
But, that language is a mongrel
A mangy, malnourished mutt, named Fritz
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
in a flash everything changes
it happens so fast, it's a little outrageous
life, slow and steady
becomes life, fast and ready
what you have, is there, then gone
lost in a fritz, wondering why, what went wrong
you wish you could rewind, go back and change the past
cause right now your in a bind, you were kicked out on your ***
that shelter of anger and confusion won't keep you warm and safe
you have to find a new home, stick it out, and just be brave
adversity constantly presenting itself to you
forced to answer the question of - Now what will you do?
through it all just try to remember
things might get worse, but they're bound to get better
life seems like hell right now, but it won't last forever
keep moving forward no matter what
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC