"pad" poems
By Arcassin Burnham
I'm determined,
Lack the feeling of yearning
The desire to talk about this insecure little daddy's girl,
Yes
Like me,
Yeah you blame the world,
But comparing yourself to me,
I'll make you scratch your eyes out
And turn you back to ******* *****
Don't leave a comment,
Just mean what you say,
If you don't have reasons,
Get out of my face,
You don't know me,
You never met me,
You look like you ****** on 82 *****
Your a big mouth ***** you need to be stitched up,
Your skills on the pad they flock,
Must have been the time of the month when you sent that comment,
Miss Arlo Disarray get off my ****
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
In 2005 The Piano Man was found wandering the streets of Sheerness in a soaking wet suit and tie
he didn't say a word.
When presented with pad and pen he simply drew a grand piano.
His nurses sat him in front of a beat up old upright
he played for four hours straight;
for four months his hands were the only things to break his silence.
Alexandre Dumas said "man will never be perfect until he learns to create and destroy."
Do you ever think about how Beethoven hacked the legs off his piano so he could feel the sounds he couldn't hear in his head, through his chest?
And Van Gogh heard the sounds his paintings made but kept going until his sanity
was just a memory floating on a distant river under a tired Milky Way.
And you see, like a Gaelic folk song blindness runs red through my family,
so I know it's not much but I'm here, still trying to mould my hands to say the right form of 'I love you'.
And did you know that the human heart beats over 30 million times a year, but we still have a hard time keeping our feet on the ground?
And did you know that the act of breaking in a horse is actually the act of breaking it's back?
Like we can't sit without sitting on broken things.
And did you know that every time a mobile phone sends out a GPS signal a bee loses it's way home, and every bee that doesn't reach it's hive dies?
So on nights when your pulse matches the beat of my favourite song
you don't have to wonder if it's me matching the syncopation of your silence --
and I wonder if you ever found what you were looking for.
And I wonder if you realise that on days you're not here I roll up my sleeves,
count the beats without you,
sit on the backseat and miss you.
And somewhere The Piano Man rolls up his sleeves
creates the Big Bang under his fingertips.
And in 2005 on an April morning in Sheerness, a suited piano man walks straight into the ocean,
begs the current to take him.
I send you a message
a bee loses it's way home.
I send you another
another bee dies.
My chest cavity is a bumble bee crypt,
my tongue a honeyed graveyard.
Another message.
The Big Bang.
The hive.
A suit.
That ocean.
Another back is broken.
Another message is sent.
I fear I am more honeycomb than heart.
To create is to destroy. To destroy is to succeed.
And would you just look at what these piano hands have finally done.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
I
She exits herself on the
Sofa. Blanket, dog, and bits
Of a poem on a pad of paper
On the table, like a half-eaten
Piece of homework.
Shades of wine on her sleeping
Lips. Exits herself; space-walks
Outside that frame of mind she's
Been expected to hang herself
On the wall within; she knows
There is more.
There has to be more.
II
She has to be more.
Like so many writers, she falls
Asleep working. Sometimes
Works to fall asleep.
Digging her way through
Herself, mining for words,
Hacking away at painful pasts,
Gathering emerald experiences.
Diamond doubts and ruby
Regrets all fuel her poetry.
And she reads, spotlight kissed;
Audience adored,
Goosebump summoning; hairs
On arms and necks stand up as
She whispers directly to me.
About me. Because of me.
In front of everybody.
To music, and I've brought a box
Of pins, and between each of her
Every word, I drop one. And I
Swear to the gods, you can hear
Them all. Like the unsteady
Ticking of a clock too cool to
Care.
III
Poetry jewelry; set with stones
From her innermost. Chips of
Gold from her heart melted
Down to a key pendant she
Holds in her hand; chain dangling,
Eyes closed, forehead resting
Against a door she knows it is
Time to open. Key in one hand,
Pen in the other,
She
Enters
Herself.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
Over a cup of morning java
Scanning my daily mail
I came upon an advertisement sheet
*That exclaimed in BOLD rainbow pastel*
Grand opening of a store that has everything
On the corner of Daisy and William Tell
The one thing I saw that interested me
Is they were having a back to "60's" Hippie sale
Of course I stopped what it was I was doing
Hopped in my Lexus and left right away
The excitement had my heart all in a flutter
This I guarantee is going to be a good day
They weren't kidding when they said they sold it all
I'd been wandering the store for quite a while
That's when I came to what it was I had come here for
Before me in trippy little colors, the hippie aisle
So I bought me a couple colorful hippies
With my 25% coupon I was able to save
The Hippies even came with a bonus
Fresh cut flowers and Jefferson Airplane tapes
When I got home I showed them to their room
Black light posters and colored beads hung from the door
As luck would have it I bought an Indian hemp rug
From Pier One just the day before
They taught me transcendental meditation
While I taught them both how to bathe
Their lessons broadened the mind
My lessons the nostrils saved
I soon had a groovy little hippie pad
In which organic vegetables and enlightenment grew
We'd sit around crossed legged in a purple haze at night
Playing psychedelic tunes on our Kazoo's
And I was pretty good too! Who Knew!
Yes, a house of happy hippies
Is a happy hippie house indeed
Especially when Wendy Crystal Sky...Yes, that's her name
Brews her famous dandelion tea
I highly recommend the purchase of hippies
I couldn't be any happier with mine
Sure beats the punk rockers I got on close out last year
But that my friend is another tale for another time...
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 6:48 AM UTC
Jo wahan hai wo yahan hai
Jo yahan hai wo wahan hai
Par-e-dil gumshuda
Na Jane kahan hai
Ek chota sa to ye jahan hai
Hum to isse bhi bant chale
Dil to ek chota sa makam hai
A us ***** ko bhi sath le chalein
Jispe uska kudha mehrban hai
Ye to ek aeine ki zaban hai
Jane teri ankhein kahan hai
apne ko hi kyu karta hai khafa
Tujse zada insan to asman hai
Koi lakeer zisko na bant sake
Usse bant diya tune jahan hai
ab to diwaron me hi tu fanaa hai
agar ek dusre ke liye hi marna hai
to pyar me marne me kya gunha hai ?
rok na sake koi usse
jisko khaboien ki panaa hai
Jo pyar me bana hai
lakeeron ke uss par bhi to ek sapna hai
udhar bhi to koi shayad apna hai
agar ek dusre ke liye hi marna hai
to pyar me marne me kya gunha hai ?
ye jo rasta tumne chuna hai
akele pad jaoge tum beete kal
ye jo hai tumhari addat
ki ab to ibadat bhi gunha hai
kya tumne kabhi dheere se suna hai
wo ek muskaan ki shararat
jiska arth bhi tumko mana hai
dekh le us fakeer ki nazakat
jo tere mere khoon ki milawat
us lakeer ki ahat pe kurban hai
agar ek dusre ke liye hi marna hai
to pyar me marne me kya gunha hai ?
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 6:32 AM UTC
Back to the scrawling pad
a cheap red notebook
wide ruled, with the perforated pages in it
in case I wanna punch one out easily
Those moleskin daze were measly
Thinking I'm creative and potent
but spending two years
to fill those tiny pages
Please, help me
reinvent the feel and manifest it
to real, accomplishment
Songs, verse, or vice grip words
to change a nation with
- to start a new nation with
Bokonon Bhikkhu
hurling Pikachus down from Mt. Olympus
land on the concrete with lemming splat
Get the metaphor?
I don't. Make your own up
I just an absurdest
A poor boy humming Queen
and writing rap atrocities
Nah, the rap "apocalypse"
minus all the apostrophes
Write so much anything anyone says
from now until oblivion
was just quoting me!
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
I know how much time you spent on your hair so I will not touch it,
but think of how soft it would feel running across my skin.
I know you hate it when I walk around in nothing,
so I'll try and teach you the ways to love your own body.
And I am here to be your crash pad when you get laid off at work
and come home crying.
And before the day is done I'll carry you into the woods and we'll put our feet in the lake to forget our tragedies,
and remember we're still young at heart.
There is no need to grow up and worry about your looks.
Worry how other people,
we don't know,
think about our bodies
and if they are silently judging.
Let's not worry about money.
We'll just camp in a tent on the lakeside when we lose our house.
And we'll go with the river,
play around like children
and enjoy life and live worry-free.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
ek het ware liefde i for true love
my hele lewe my whole life
gesoek searched
totdat ek ontdek until i discovered
dat die liefde that the love
moet binne in begin must begin inside
as jou pad onseker is if your path is uncertain
en jy weet nie wat jy and you dont know what you
wil eintlik he nie really want to have
dan wandel jy tussen then you wander between
die bosse met the forests with
dorings wat jou thorns that
steek *****
as jy stil sit if you sit still
en reflekteer and reflect
sal streke van lig streaks of light
en ontdekking and discovery
uitskyn shine out
die bosse sal tans the forests will still
daar wees be there
maar jy but you
kan die can
pad manage
bestuur the path
as jy jou hart agtervolg if you follow your heart
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 11:42 PM UTC
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Bade pyar se wo humko apni mefil me Bulayein
Mehfil me bulakar mehfil ke kaide sikhayein
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Pad pad kar kaide hum zehan mein basayein
tabhi humare Mezban khud kaidon ko thakh per rakh ayein
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Jab Mezbaan ki is harkat per hum narazgi jatayein
Pyar se woh humein Naee kaide ki kitabe thamayein.
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Bade laad se wo Bheege joothon ke nakshe humare galon per banayein
Meethe khanjar si chubhti hain ye unki zalim adayein
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Zalil O ruswa hokar jab unki mehfil se jayein.
Dosti ki Bediyan wo humare paon mein pehnayein.
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Kiya hai humne bhi pukka irada chod kar na mehfil ko ab Jayein
Humare mezbaan chahe hume zalil ker kitni bhi khushiyaan manaayein
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
apno se jada gairon ki yaad aati hai,
jab jindagi kisi gair ki mohtaaj ** jaati hai,
dil ka haal samajhne vala koi nahi hota,
aur jindagi hai k bas ek chidiya ki tarah ud jati hai,
dll me yaad basi rah jaati hai,
mashaal jalti hui achanak bujh jati hai,
aankhon k saamne base andhera hi andhera dikhta hai,
har roshni bhi feeki pad jati hai,
jab jindagi kisi gair ki mohtaaj ** jati hai....
wajah bewajah hi dard uthta rhta hai,
aankhon ka mom har waqt pighalta rahta hai,
aansoo b rasta aona badal lete hai,
dil me tadap k shiva aur kuj nahi bachta hai,
har khwahish dafan ** jati hai,
chahat bas khud ko khatam karne ki rah jati hai,
jab jindagi kisi gair ki mohtaaj ** jati hai.....
shahar logon se bhara hokar bhi veeran lagta hai,
din nikalte hi dhalne lag jata hai,
bewajah koi insaan shaitan lagne lagta hai,
khud ki ek saan bhi bejaan lagne lagti hai,
bejaan aawaj,
rookhe shabd,
pathrayi aankhen,
aur aansuon ki sookhi dhara shrajal ** uthti hai,
jab jindagi kisi gair ki mohtaaj ** jati hai.....
yun to har waqt khyal dil me rhta hai k vo mera hai,
tabhi koi khta hai k vo nahi bas bhram tera hai,
aur kitna pyar me barbaad ** jaun,
khatam ** jaun ya tujhme hi mar jaun,
aasan nahi koi jirah rah jati hai,
har gali kooche se bas unk nikalne ki aas rahti hai,
vo mere nahi har taraf bas ek hi aawaj goonjti hai,
din khatam raat shuru,
roshni gayi andhera shuru,
sath khatam tanhayi shuru,
bas yahi tadpan har ghadi rah jati hai,
vo meri nahi kisi aur ki ** jati hai,
jindagi kisi gair ki mohtaaj ** jati hai....
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 8:21 AM UTC
Ask...and you shall be given answers
seek...and you'll be told where to look
knock...say, hello?...hello? hellooow?
a voice named siri replies:
"is it me you're looking for?"
i think,
the eyes, the mind, even the heart, need
clear, goggle-like glasses, for 20/20 vision,
to grasp, to discern, be forewarned,
not to be overwhelmed by whatever
data unfolds on the screen
they say, there are contrived solutions,
for life's every complication
search engines are accessible to all
just press specific keys, and, Voila!
surf, play...easy games, easy friends
but, can they really answer all questions?
every human question?.........like,
do elephants really cry? how did it occur
that they have excellent memories?
is Timbuktu modernized now?
are there still surviving cannibals?
will the remaining Bee Gees member,
tell us how to mend a broken heart?
do rosicrucians really possess secret wisdom?
what happened to you and me?
how do i save myself from emotional vampires?
how do i cook pad thai?
...and how do i get you out of my mind?
why does the rooster crow after midnight
how does logarithm work with poetry?
do dogs have souls? do they visit their
masters?....i miss my dogs Misty and Tiny,
...and i miss you...what's wrong with me?
God, why do i even bother to ask?
my goggled eyes are blinded by grief
my goggled mind refuses to forget
this goggled life of mine feels empty
and it has nothing to do with technology...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 23, 2018
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
The glow of a city night comes in through my window
And keeps awake my always-empty stomach and heart
Night skies look sick with green
And don't take well to light pollution
Sleep doesn't come easy to someone so restless
Though I need the fullness of oblivion now more than ever
There is no right way to lay a restless head on a pillow
To twist a hollow body under sheets
That it will lie still in comfort
Because emptiness folds painfully in on itself
And I untwist, I unfold
To accept defeat
Propped on elbows,
On a yellow legal pad in the yellow light
I hold the sign of a night spent slowly:
All forms of unhappiness are, on the inside, loneliness
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 3:12 PM UTC
The saying is "Always live your life in the fast lane."
But how can I do that if my life has faded like smoke through a keyhole?
It is blank like a notepad on a little girl's desk.
The girl who is constantly bullied for the Bell's Palsy that consumes her face.
The notepad that sits on her desk that she has ripped pages upon pages upon pages out of.
Pages that read words that are thrown at her everyday.
**** ***** ***** loser.
Pages that have drawings of her and that one guy she longs for, but that one guy longs for her disappearance.
My life is like that blank note pad.
The only thing it retains is it's last message telling the world "Goodbye."
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
The pad of my thumb sits on your face
It fits in that place
where your brow and cheek bone meet.
Your mouth submits to the taste of my skin
It gets my attention.
Those thin lips harbor a chase to cure
The abstention you know I endure
Until I retire the entire set of rules
I've laid out, wether weeks or months,
In this case, hours, your goal will be completed.
Because defeated isn't in your vocabulary
I'd even consider it rarely.
You win.
Which is a win-win.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
.
Legos
Rubik ' s Cube
Stress ***** Top
Squirt gun Yo-yo
Slinky GI Joe Hot
Wheels Action F
igures Col lectibl
e Puzzles Etch A
SketchStuffed An
imals Marbles Do
llsCards Kite Perp
plexus Le a p Pad
Magic School Bus
Micro s co p e Kit
Vibrating Rubber Duck
ie Handcuffs Oral *** Strip
Glowing Stretchy Vibrating *****
Doll theLibera tor Soloflesh
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
The Sansui turntable still works well.
Like memories, round and round,
Needling me. And the more I play them,
The more they itch.
I know the dark side of the moon,
And the way the sun shines.
The dances, whirlwind moves,
That have settled now.
Inside the sleeve are notes and our words.
I will not let the dust jackets do their job.
I set Abbey Road gently on the pad,
Place the needle softly, and hear the familiar scratch.
Standing back, like watching a parade,
I listen.
Here comes the sun on a cloudy day.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 9:22 AM UTC
You're my snickerdoodle, pumpkin strudel,
You're the sauce upon my noodle,
You're prettier then a purple poodle,
You're the one I like to doodle,......on my doodle pad,...
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
A coy fish in a pond with nowhere to swim nor splash. The clear water allowed him to see in all four directions, though there was nothing to catch the eye but four concrete walls and bunches of lily pads.
A tiny spectator circled the grass surrounding the pond. She looked as though she were only 5 years old. A second later she was hastily ripping a lily pad from its roots. Upon discovering no magic beneath its belly, she dropped it and began on her way.
The lifeless plant rested at the ponds edge for weeks before the wind carried it back to its place. It was somehow different now, wrinkled and stretched at the stem, though it floated uniform among the rest. The coy hid in the shadows created by the walls, and watched.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
Ode to a Poet(writer)
I know you,
All alone
4am is when you feel most at home.
I feel you,
Blank page, full pen,
I see you,
Looking at a page waiting for a tale to unfold,
Behold!
When it starts, it flows,
I am you,
Hiding away, writing my pain,
Escaping reality,
Day to day,
We are art,
In the way we move,
We are the dreamer's and believer's
Pad and pen in hand til our dreams come true.
C. Tyler
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 2:05 PM UTC
In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds
Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual
My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary
Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments
I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path
The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux
As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate
Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift
Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary
Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode
And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Streets of the city has recently bathed, with a sudden hour
long mid-Summer's rain.
Romeo trudged down the empty street, towards his lonely
pad located on a terrace.
He had nothing to call his very own, excepting his dear old
Saxophone!
The crowd in the hotel applauded as he played, since he played
with empathy like every other day.
He had met his Juliet briefly once, those were the moments of
a happy trance!
The saxophone has countless musical notes embedded inside, -
For our Romeo to play them out night after night.
Yet so many Romeos like him shall slowly fade away;
And the saxophone shall play their dirge at the end of
the day!
-By Raj Nandy, New Delhi
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 11:23 AM UTC
Even the corner of the heating pad is warmer than what I feel for you.
There's no red-hot passion here, on the contrary;
there is only a numb cold in my chest cavity
a gnawing anxiety and pale
annoyance,
bruised,
which for some sickening reason
I
love.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
it looks like the inside of my cortex
Loose screws with a loose table for my verbal contortions
A few books and spells surrounded by potions
Vertical blinds shut tight, the way they were forced in
Mattress on the floor
tucked on top of a box spring
Fornication smell, but no room for my offspring
I don't live alone, instead, I live with these objects
Mac 27 inch, I pad that's never dim...tech floods the room like CSI evidence
Solid speakers to echo feelings a resonance
Window closed, but when it's open the moonlight just settles in
This is my cave but, you can call it my residence.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
this is my place
this was the doorway i rented.
this was where i would put things.
this was my bathroom.
this was the mirror i used to look through.
this is the place at the bottom of the stairs.
this is where i didnt sleep.
this was where my head screamed till out of breath.
this was my backpack where i kept paper.
these were the words i didnt write.
those were the sleepless nights.
those were people i loved.
these were things i did to pass the time.
and that.. that was what i had in mind.
these were reminders of the "silly times".
theres where we three all learned to rhyme.
and thats the hallway to down there, thats where i went this last time.
with no light there..
no time..
no games, photos or silly rhymes..
no words to write, no sleepless night..
no stairs down there, no pen and pad, no bathroom,
no mirrors,
no head screaming, no bad dreaming..
no things to put away or place to keep them there.
no doorway rented.
and no place for me .
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 9:29 PM UTC
deli meats and cheeses
i look past them at soft crinkling smiling faces
and i drink my java
warms up my hands and ******* and i sweat
in my coat
walking up and down the isles
I see trail mix
and sunchips
and sweet sweet sweets
the yummies
that i adore
chocolates
especially
dark chocolate cocoa orange cherry strawberry berry red brown
it's the sweetness and saltiness
of summer time ice cream
It's the cold crispness
of carrots and snap peas
It's the warmth and comfort
of big muffins and a plate of hashbrowns
at Perkin's
after a stressful morning
spice smells
of pad tai noodles
sourdough bread, fresh baked
crunch crunch on the outside
soft hot squish
inside
(save that part for me, i eat them separate
-you laugh)
how many times did we
laugh
about how you ate that bug
and we were never picky
*cherries
all those cherries.*
we ate nutella
on bread,
washed it down with cold organic orange juice
from a cafe neither of us had ever heard of
and tofu
tofu tofu
always cooked perfectly (we wondered how they do it)
(i still don't know)
chocolate, melting slowly
"you missed some."
-------just an excuse to kiss me.
i giggle
peanut m&m;'s
turn my tongue colors.
Watermelon at a potluck
wedding cake
cheesy potatoes
and an extra helping of bread
(we laughed so hard at the white bread, squished into a cube)
ruby red
made you wince
I drink it straight from the bottle
and smile
remembering every kiss
that tasted of grapefruit
in that tent
every kiss that tasted of salt
from the eggs?
or from the sweat on your lips
the sweat on your lips.
we kiss more
i smile into your lips
i remember that, especially
we never got sick of each other
nutella on everything, now.
especially on s'mores
i smile with every memory
i put my hands in pockets, the cold rushes to meet my face
in the ice cream aisle
i cool down as i graze
through the tubs or corn syrup and double churned triple churned
cream with extra fudge
sherbet
i chuckle to myself
memories memories
of sitting up high
with you,
sand on our toes
chocolate caramel fudge coffee
on our tongues
love
in our hearts
you remember.
the taste of that summer
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC