Without you
These moments of mine
Are an abyss of time
Where the memories rewind
And my dreams intertwine

Without me
I sense less glee
But I'll be with you, vicariously
And you me
Undoubtedly

Without trust
There is no foundation
Upon which to build us
As I watched her groove
Her transient spell she'd ooze
Whilst I'd lose
Myself in how she'd move

Blame her beauty foreign
Intimate gloring
Reach in the dark she'll say
The sun is gonna shine
Every minute was a war he'd say
I want to get what's mine

The Pint of a Groggy Moat


“If writers wrote as carelessly as some people talk, then adhasdh asdglaseuyt[bn[ pasdlgkhasdfasdf.”
― Lemony Snicket


There are 2 mornings of types
How I wake up:
1, the glorious morning seeps in my being and
fills me with light for the day.
2, the mornious gloring beeps in my ceiling and
tilts me with fight for delay.

This morning was the second type.