"manacled" poems
*I reached safely where you sent us
It's a lovely place for any traveller
Problem is the people who came along
Those you said should be my brothers
They're bad & insert tubes in the heart
To **** out every little bit of our blood
We'd be brothers if only we connected
God you believe we're Hoppers and locusts
We should be but some became crows
These people have hearts of scorpions
And ache to fight and spread their poisons
Their loathing is deep and their hearts hard
They laugh by face and frown inside
There's one with joy filled to the brim
Simply because my pockets are empty
His heart finds peace when we're troubled
And end up clamoring for their assistance
They set traps everywhere, up and down
They rip us and are hungry,yearning to bite
It excites when you're helpless and despair
It's comic to them watching your struggles
They never remember when you helped
They celebrate when they see you dying
They already have me painfully manacled
My pains are flooding their hearts with bliss
These guys have hearts of scorpions
Which ache to bite and spread poisons
Their loathing is deep, hearts hard
They only laugh with their teeth
Yet they are frowning deep inside
They are worms inside the gullet
Slowly ******* and ******* pretty hard
Forgetting if their host dies they also die
Those are the people we live with
They have machetes in their cloaks
Hidden,so we think they're carrying babies
And get our ignorant necks real close
They are out here ready to betray us
That friend of yours you truly love
One you're breaking a piece of bread for
Is responsible for rumors that all you eat
Is stolen, and the one craving your defeat
These guys have hearts of scorpions
(I'm scared)
And ache to bite and spread poisons
Their loathing is deep, hearts are hard
They just laugh with their teeth
But they are frowning inside*
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 9:17 AM UTC
A message to the boy minding the pastry,
one finger in each the webs
of cosmic lust and mercy,
waiting to be told it is fine to want
the best for everybody:
It is fine. It is fine.
What are you?
Were you born here?
No, I was born on the banks of the Seine,
beside the boneyard of the nameless,
in the pits of Delhi with
the blood of roosters on my toes,
***** who pecked one another
to their entrails because the
colony of the living sunrise was
shrunk to a pocket of feathers and fire
by some wire, wood, and staples.
I was born in the Academy of Athens,
where Socrates made salsa with hemlock
and danced into a dialogue,
because the grocery habaneros were all too tender,
and St. Augustine could offer no alternative.
Never forget - we were born to unfairness;
unfair as long as our appetites differ,
or we exhaust sooner than one another,
or we grip one another differently and come at different times.
The only person less fair than me is God.
But my justice - that is perfect,
like my voice, which has none of a gavel's
authority. Or my heart: which was manacled by giants
and sentenced to be pecked by a flying poem, a girl
with hair she won't comb, a song about Jerusalem.
Fair. **** fair.
I am fair as long as I can wait, quiet -
silent as the sand, sunburned and happy,
to be drawn into
that kindness, the Atlantic - - -
the flip and twist of the sea.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 4:01 PM UTC
Manacled the hands
Which intertwine with one another now,
Hands that come to grip with issues
Locked within the soul, somehow.
Manacled, the hands that hold her
Manacled in blood and bone,
Hold the baby’s head so gently
Veined and scarred with love intoned.
Hands of strength that strike the anvil
Shape the shoe to fit the hoof
Hold the stallion’s head commanding
Strong control to stay aloof.
Hands that wield the sword of vengeance
Hands that feed the wood to fire,
Work the field with ox and plough
Stroke her body to desire.
Veinous hands, so strong and calloused
Locked within his every day,
Hands that clap to merry music
Hands that to the piper pay.
Hunter hands to snare the rabbit
Catch the carp in yonder lake,
Pen the words of love to paper
Knead the dough of bread to bake.
Quiet hands that rest in evening
Sitting by the fireside,
Listening to the snoring hounds
Which on the mat, asleep, reside.
Manacled, these hands, he ponders
Locked within the ways of sin,
Reminiscent recollection
…Quiet smile on whiskered chin.
Fingers cooled in fresh spring water
Feel the rays of rising sun,
Stride across the purple heather
These hands, a goodly day begun.
Marshalg
FOXGLOVE, Taranaki.
4.20am 17 February 2013
© 2013 Marshal Gebbie
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
I want to have
lunch
of all meats and veggies –
can someone cook
and put them all
on the table for me?
I want to eat fine
at a table of ebony
with silverware
in King Louis XIV style –
can somebody procure them for me?
I want to dine
in a Hall of Fame
Queen Cleo style
with singers and slaves
and manacled leopards
at my feet –
Hey, who’s there!
get them all ready for me
I want them all in a
Grand Palace like Versailles
not in some petty lowbrow
Château de Malmaison -
so can someone get it ready
by today eve, precisely 5?
I want to eat in peace
with no noise
and braying donkeys
so - Hey! can someone
shoot that rabble outside
unkempt, untidy
and always wanting free meals off me!
Aug 26, 2011
Aug 26, 2011 at 3:07 AM UTC
the
compliant
were
manacled
in
servitude
the overseer
not allowing them
any latitude
these
heavy
steel
loops
held
a
firm
grip
from their cuffs
none could
readily slip
he
who
had
the
status
of
boss
not ever
giving up the
controller's toss
in
fetters
he'd
keep
them
bolted
secure
never to be
released out of
the inure
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
good equestrians you know like
young things who giggle all pretty
major embellishments of lipstickglaze and
sourpuss pouts skin smooth as
vanilla in summertime:
nymphs if you only
champ at the bit to have your
hair brushed to be
carrotfed and bootkicked into
stockholm races (sing this song
wear your
habit on your sleeve or
break it fast
come now sister let’s
put on some tea and
watch the jasmine bloom I hear it’s
particularly fragrant this
time of year.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 5:14 AM UTC
Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
Nor question much
That subtle wreath of hair which crowns my arm;
The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,
For ’tis my outward Soul,
Viceroy to that which then to heaven being gone
Will leave this to control
And keep these limbs, her Provinces, from dissolution.
For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall
Through every part
Can tie those parts, and make me one of all,
These hairs, which upward grew, and strength and art
Have from a better brain,
Can better do’t; except she meant that I
By this should know my pain,
As prisoners then are manacled when they’re condemned to die.
Whate’er she meant by ‘t, bury it with me,
For since I am
Love’s martyr, it might breed idolatry
If into others’ hands these relics came;
As ’twas humility
To afford to it all that a Soul can do,
So ’tis some bravery
That since you would save none of me, I bury some of you.
1.4k
Her wide-brim hat was pointed, and worn with ne'er a tilt
Her midnight robe was flowing, and wove from satin silk
Her Besom broom was hazel-hilted, twigged with fresh cut birch
As she flew o'er the hill, until she spied a rocky perch
The hill was trapped in moons light, caught in its silken nets
And grizzled trees were swaying casting eerie silhouettes
A howling wind came moaning, as it wailed a haunting sound
When her swishing broom came whooshing, as she swept o'er the ground
She alighted on the hill top, landing dainty on her toes
And took a tattered grimoire which she held up to her nose
She raised a magic talisman and cast an ancient spell
Then she waited through the gloaming, till midnight chimed its bell
The hill stood gravely silent, as the wind restrained its breath
The grass and flowers wilted and released their scent of death
The shadows neath the trees became alive and took on shape
And ghostly figures rose, as Hallows Eve called them awake
The sounds of horse drawn carriages, came trundling up the hill
Whilst babbling jeering voices exorcised the silent still
A sudden gust of wind called out the names of those condemned
Each manacled and chained up, as they rode to meet their end
As time echoed its memories, she watched the scene unfold
The victims forced unwillingly, to climb upon the scaffold
Some offered up the Lord’s Prayer, and ne'er a word was stumbled
They took a final breath of life, and into hell they tumbled
Their bodies swung ungainly, as they swayed a ghastly dance
With lifeless spectral faces locked into a stone-like trance
Their deathly shrouds were pale, reflected in moons silken sheen
And she watched as they cavorted, ne'er attempt to intervene
They slunk back into shadows, at the fading of the night
The hill reprieved from darkness by the early morning light
The ritual was completed, as she whispered them goodbye
And she climbed onto her hazel broom and kicked into the sky
On Gallows Hill neath stars and moon they hung
And ne'er a one had done the world a wrong
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
(Song title from The Beatles’ catalogue, by Lennon/McCartney)
Miles I have struggled,
Trudged down the manacled streets,
A lifetime spent in misery,
Surrounded in sin and tragedy,
The long and winding road I walk,
Is diseased with pain and hurt,
I bury my heart and evil soul,
To save them from death and wicked sights,
Scarred by rumours; afeard of the light.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:09 AM UTC
She doesn't stroll on water
But makes a drop taste sweet,
There are no wings upon Her back
But you'll hover off your feet.
Whenever She glides into a room
No halo on Her head,
Her presence transforms any traces of doom,
Your spirit will be fed.
With hope for all the future
What was blindfolded before,
Bursts in rays of colour
As She takes you on a tour.
All unanswered questions, hey!
"What is the meaning of life?"
She answers with a single smile,
To children, husbands, wifes.
If She had a halo
She would lock it in a chest,
Far be it from Her, She thinks,
To feel She is the best.
That modesty, those charismatic
Eyes, that shining aura,
Enough to make a dying spirit
Rise from out the corner
But who guards the Angels?
Who keeps watch?
Protecting such an important being,
It's not a job to botch.
For though She doesn't know it
If life's cruelty makes Her stumble,
Then other souls who matter,
Could end up in downwards tumbles.
It isn't fair, the pressure,
Living Her life for everyone,
And this is how the shackled Wolf,
Has burst into the sun!
Chained and tortured, the Lone Wolf
Eventually was blind to light,
He needed a purpose, a mission in life,
Else die in dark and fright.
So now, inspired by an Angel,
He has finally seen the way,
Manacled but inspired,
He grows stronger every day.
The Wolf will never be as strong
As She who breaks chains for everyone!
But as long as She can turn to him,
All that matters to him is done.
She protects the people from,
The cruel, the nasty, the foul,
And any who try to move in Her way,
Will hear the Lone Wolf's growl.
So if you feel a glow one day,
At you the Angel may well be shining,
And running at Her heels, Her faithful servant,
Will no longer be whining.
Dec 27, 2020
Dec 27, 2020 at 10:55 PM UTC
when i met you
you were at the hands of ghouls
a gimping coterie of Satan's
who pleasured at the torments they inflicted upon your innocents
who bound your feet
bones in a vice
making you
their Chinese fantasy
a delicate *** trinket
a manacled smooth petite beauty
in agony
bending you into twisted branches
those heartless devils,
drinking red ice cocktails
you put your heel on their throats
by craving death
that will teach them!
gloating at your fear
filling their emptiness
with your trembling
your dreams faded
into the body of a wounded kitten
has God
given us the cold shoulder?
hacked angels wings to stumps
and left the doors to hell wide
leaving your soul a torn crag flaming?
little girl on fire
screaming in the cave of self
would he weep at your alter
and kiss your scarred tissue
begging your forgiveness
lamenting his snide toys of fate
sweet cursed apples
and sly snakes
twisting raptured seductions
your life, cross and curse
a burnt offering
a blood light blinking
with no fire escape
oh
Eve
blamed by the idiots of religion
for everything
only a child
who sank her pink mouth into a serrated moon
now always weighing death
bathtub ****** red ribbon glamour
dreaming paraphilias tide
eyes a ghastly vacancy
floating like a feather
mud,
tabernacles grave
a buoyant shell
sinking
in crimson clouds
a smiling dread
what does it take
for God to redeem himself?
must we storm paradise
before he fills you
with perfumes bliss
and effulgent lights embrace pours through your soul
like lanterns rose sky?
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
*You took my breath away perfecting your sigh
I lost my wings teaching you how to fly
you know, it cost me my smile to diminish your cry...
I lost my way seeking to find you a path
and my shine to enhance your glow...
I lost reason struggling to build your thought
plus my vision attempting to make you see
that I was manacled just to set you free.
to see you rise I fell, you deserved a fairytale
I gave up my heaven to put you out your hell.
I lost my grip keeping you in touch, my faith inspiring you to church
healed your wound I got a scratch, amputated trying to be your crutch
I hated showing you how to truly love
and to keep you on the straight I had to swerve
for ours was a seesaw, I lifted you high whilst dropping low,
I lost all I had to provide the plenty you sought
because I valued you so much I forgot my worth*
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
We are stubborn oak, weathered by time;
the sea in our roots;
indelibly etched with histories;
generations of shriveled feet entrenched in shifting sand;
ankles manacled by smug doctrine-
a vanity of wigs;
a conceit of hollow gestures;
a chaos of language
caught at the throat by immortal diamonds.
…...
Behind the darkened mirror
sits shadows of lost children cowardly nailed;
confined to straddle a pen of brittle palings.
They sway both ways (from side to side)
singing lullabies to a faceless doll:
“Sleep my little one, sleep...”
Never to sleep.
We are destined to eternal night,
weeping for escape from discordant ghosts
wreathed with barbs,
sharp reminders of The Hidden One.
…...
Are you prepared for a reading?
I see fattened thieves squeal
to redolent notes of Victory that is 'The Hymn of Life'.
Puppets, no longer orchestrated, become their own Masters,
no longer believers of illusions.
Then stepping through window's shattered glass,
discover the New Child
illuminated by an astonished look,
dancing in the gushing fountain of Delight.
Only then will the beginning become the end.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 8:22 AM UTC
Spent.
Rusted.
Encrusted.
Barnacled.
Manacled.
Chaffed.
Reddened.
Arrested.
Transfixed.
Calmed.
Balmed.
Blamed.
Inflamed.
Infiltrated.
Intrigued.
Embarked.
Engaged.
Encompassed.
Decompressed.
Cold-compressed.
Chilled.
Thrilled.
Spilled.
Spent.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC
**THE TRAGEDY SERIES
1ST POEM**
AVANA'S TALE
*She walks around
Carrying with her
Pairs of agony
Anguish and misery
That taunts and stalks the very
Essence of her existence
With her are loneliness and a sad
Air of darkness
That continually fights and bites her
Still she dreams of helpers of destinies
That will surface someday to save her from herself
But none ever came to rescue her
She wished for a friend
Someone who would understand her
Someone who would read her eyes
Who would smile at her
And appreciate her*
*She dreams too
She longs too
She waited for you
She yearned for you
All she wanted was a smile
A smile from you
To reassure her
Of her lost dreams
Of the worlds she could not reach
And the years she lost
But you were quite busy
Surfing and aiming at the sky
Yet you could not
Hear the voice of her silence
Calling and longing for you
Wishing you were there to save her from the callous wind that blew out her soul*
*And so after waiting for a light to shine on her
After wishing the darkness would give way
After praying for angels to touch her
After the nights of terror
Swimming in the sea of sorrow
The ocean of confusion
The river of misery
Where the waves strangled and manacled her
Where evil fell on her
By the dark
Where sadness engulfed her soul
Where misery held her hands
And pain covered her mouth
As she screamed
Screaming in her tears
Where fear subdued her
And darkness began
Eating her
Swallowing her glory
Stealing her soul
From her very existence
Where no one could see her anymore
As she faded
Fading slowly
Slowly with the night
As she faded to the world of the forgotten ones
And there she laid
Lifeless, breathless
As you strolled pass her grave side
At night
You read*
**SHE WAS
WAITING
WAITING FOR YOU
YEARNING TO BE SAVED
SO PAINFUL YOU CAME TOO LATE
NOW SHE'S GONE
GONE WITH THE WIND**
*Her screams re echoes through
The depths of the night
As you walk away
Wondering
Who she really was*
**AND TONIGHT
MEN SLEEP BENEATH A STRANGE MOONLIGHT
TONIGHT
THERE IS
NO GUIDING STAR**
Ovi Odiete©
2016
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
We dressed her in delicate silk
And gave her glittering jewels to wear,
A crown with rubies on the top,
And flowers for her fragrant hair
We placed wings on her dainty shoulders,
Crystal heels on her slender feet,
We draped her in beauty head to toe,
Gave her the shape of all our fantasies,
So that when we picked at her flawless skin,
And tore off her silken gowns,
When we pulled at her rose-petalled hair
And her lovely stone-studded crown,
When we chased her into darkness,
As she tripped on manacled heels,
When we watched her try to fly but fail
With bejewelled wings that were too heavy,
We could baffle her, confuse her, fool her
Into believing it was not our fault,
For we had revered and worshipped her,
Could the devotee be responsible for her fall?
Oh not at all!
She was too beautiful,
She radiated too much,
She was too pristine,
Easily dirtied on touch,
She was too striking,
She was too bold,
To not be stripped off of all that glitter
And all that shameless gold.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
Yesterday
We bound young wolves
with a palate of grey;
shackled a snowflake
in white,
we manacled the sun
unto the day;
tethered the moon
- to a night.
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 6:07 AM UTC
Modern day slavery, hath manacled man's hand's and feet. Chained, tied, blindfolded, leading to one's demise. It cometh by many form's; pride, envy, wrath, gluttony, lust, sloth, and greed. Thus a free willed decision, with Lucifer making rich men affluent; wealthy they've become, off bomb's, secret societal seed. Thieve's of tribal territorie's, madmen of brutal glory!!!
Mind control ruler's, martial law suiter's, polluter's of land gone to waste. O' prosperous creature, what hath thou done? Tooketh holy scripture's of God from public schooling's, passing out satanic fooling's; becoming puppet's for Beelzebub? Suicide's, sky high, as parent's, thou hath left thine son's. At the bar? Bellie's enlarged: isn't that smoke and drink enough? Got the good stuff? High on bag's of dust? Wife at home? Cheating stealthy mode, and thou wondereth why it's thee who shalt succumb!!!! The terra firma hath turned wretched, stenched by the elite's Gucci cover, whilst the world killeth one another, on war's to maketh money off of the deaf, dumb, and blind; awakest, now's the time ....................Global collapse, it's just around the corner mine friend's.......
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
Day after day
I was learning
that the yearning
and pain would never go away
That I was a bent rod
a traveler so long
lost along a road
so wrong...
I was seeing clearer
the shattered lad in my mirror
manacled in horror
of echos of the past
reverberating through the threads
of time,
a man cursed
to forever shiver in cold of desolation
and to always seek consolation
in the glamour of rhyme
yet never mind
that he'd never find...
Day after day
I was learning
that the clouds of strife
in my life
would always be the blanket
that stops my Sun from shining
and that my trumpet
was bound to rust
as no one would bear
their lips on dust...
none would love me enough to dare.
as I were a flower in the wild
growing on shitload piled...
a heart punched and filed
a destiny's child
a million pieces compiled
on a future defiled.
I was a forgotten dream
a dried up stream-
cracks instead of Adam's ale
a snail without a shell
corpse pale...
I was my own hell,
strange
they said things would change,
that time would tell...
yet there was nothing left
to be told of my story
though I wasn't one to feel sorry
as I'd been through more ****
than I could spit.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 1:26 AM UTC
*The day the story of
my existence started
manacled by fate since 93
tomorrow I turn 23
Gone from a little boy
to a lad with a unique ploy
Happy Birthday to me*
**Someday I'll find serenity
in this insanity
midst these chains I'll be free**
*While at it I'll blow candles
for this courtesy humbles*
**Tomorrow I'm born again
to this life of pain
Someday there'll be sunshine
even if after decades of rain**
*I have hope...that's what matters
for better someday things'll change*
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
see how life flows
how time embraces
things pass, and the words we use
to justify things
to eternalize, to spiritualise
they trap us, do you observe;
beings pass, things lose their joints
bodies relinquish their hold;
and even space withdraws into itself
all things it brings forth
if you observe,
dear wayfarer, and friend
what appears before and what stays and what subsides;
not led in your mind
manacled by Thick Books and Principles
and The Book of Words and Light of Truths
if you put all things aside
(you need nothing in all worlds)
and you observe
you see all things glide
like the cloud that appears in the sky
dances with winds, not to please anyone
and then passes;
and so do you, so do all things pass;
and always there is the stillness that embraces
do you observe
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
On the top floor, outside the racket.
Slamming the wasted door.
Queue of men wanting more.
In the flat at the back one of two.
Where the air flowed dank and language blue.
Twelve feet by eighteen.
The ladies kept manacled in order to score.
Rustled from the bus in a hurry, after which, their dignity's left.
A super holiday, promised a gratis gift.
Collared and chained.
Shot up to the sky.
The ladies kept manacled in order to score.
By a friend, an imperious, imposer.
Not a cool guy.
Remuneration nothing for their suffering at the hands, of ****** deviants.
A slave to desire, captured in *******
(C) Livvi
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
I am the ****** and damaged warrior
Mighty presence on an arid plain
Waste-land empty and scorch-scarred parched
Looking to the dazzling dawn
Of another baking, aching, dry day
Of another dying, desert year.
They watched bold marching
Fearful tramping
To each pitiful skirmish
And every blood-hungry moment
Of all the days and nights.
They watched corded muscles
Spasm and seize
With each call to stretch and pull
And drag the weary-worn
To fight again.
Let no man call with shrill-shriek of the owl
Across the night-filled silence
Let no-one ever whisper in the dark, dearth
Across the shadowed chasm
I am alone within a purple shade
Night-cloaked in cunning strange
I am the time-deadened, weary watchman
Locked in a forever-circle of despair
Manacled with lead, banded with steel
Tight twisted and knotted by a skein of silk
Woven tightly by the softest hand
Strengthened by certainty and pure calm
There is no escape to unearth
But death
Is skirting the edge of existence
Picking at the loose threads
Teasing and niggling the fraying filaments
Laddering and snagging
And pulling, pulling out beyond time
The winding-sheet, the sack-cloth shroud
The only closing choice.
© M.L.Emmett
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC
if a came summer
(over the beaches
sweat
in ribbons
or rivulets
binding the sand
with *******
and ****
improbably
fleshy rumples
)
i'd be gladly giddy in its shall on me
its lazy hands on me
to draw me to it in
to it drawn a manacled surly
bead of magic
burning ***
on loose footing
the unreasonable grains
of sloughing seconds
I
came a summer
to
livid unmanageable moments
where myself and myself
used our stuff of soft and pink
to drizzle drugged blatant
skin on a beach somewhere i have been with you in the fall but then it was not so
like the hot testing nerve (the bar of crimson branding light) instead a pale and
frail limpet gruffly muscular light was all over it and it was cold and i pulled you
really in my arms stabbing the youth of you slender able promise of corded
elation hotly sudored morsels of.
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 11:52 AM UTC
Entertained.
Contained.
Maintained.
Retaining access to once knowns,
sit still listening, not thinking anything
- calling living winning, then quitting.
Get up and ask the truth to forgive
me as I have forgiven, and correct me
where my functioning is hindering.
Stretching the cord to tie the load…
Become what truth embodied is,
cushion the fall from the stacked
featherbeds for religious businesses-
thumpwhump, takes y'breathaway
Conscienceless conscious necience,
all automated - due souly to luck in
the making of DNA, you see,
discovery is the easy part,
much more inter-
esting testing resting mind mingle,
estimating instants time in transit…
imagining the code used to build
the ladder, up one side, down the other.
Handling, managing manacled hopes,
most substantial, dashed to smithereens,
whither in the rearview I see you not looking,
not noticing the era we lived through, seeing
sublime simplicity unfold before us as we examine
essential, necience, non knowing unrecognizable,
feeling path, finding fortunate occasional fruit sweet,
as a path crossing fruiting bough slaps
sweetness perception from reward schedules,
stinging sensation, signal sending saying, it's okeh,
sudden sinking subtle ******* muddy awareness,
sniff, just agnosis dripping,
thinking life's a trip, travel light.
Oct 16, 2023
Oct 16, 2023 at 1:26 PM UTC