Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
dissociation a curse
dissociation my enemy
enemy barges in
enemy takes control
control is crippling
control must go
go seek advise
go to friends
friends may ignore
friends may listen
listen to god
listen to nothing
nothing is something
nothing is numbing
numbing craves alcohol
numbing craves drugs
drugs are prescribed  
drugs will fix
fix my brain
fix cracked mirrors
mirrors taunt me
mirrors tell lies
lies i tell
lies cover bruise
bruise my hand
bruise my brother
brother is silent
brother please forgive
forgive me father
forgive me mother
father please help
father is futile
futile defines me
futile invites suicide
suicide with pills
suicide i survived
survived from coma
survived in hospital
hospital is helpful
hospital gives answers
answers for family
answers to problems
problems with doctors
problems with diagnosis
diagnosis is discovered
diagnosis is depersonalization
depersonalization creates poet
depresonalization becomes mad

mad
poet
Thanks L.D. Goodwin for introducing me to the Blitz poem!

  The "official" rules are as follows (taken from Robert Lee Brewer of Writer's Digest):

•Line 1 should be one short phrase or image (like “build a boat”)
•Line 2 should be another short phrase or image using the same first word as the first word in Line 1 (something like “build a house”)
•Lines 3 and 4 should be short phrases or images using the last word of Line 2 as their first words (so Line 3 might be “house for sale” and Line 4 might be “house for rent”)
•Lines 5 and 6 should be short phrases or images using the last word of Line 4 as their first words, and so on until you’ve made it through 48 lines
•Line 49 should be the last word of Line 48
•Line 50 should be the last word of Line 47
•The title of the poem should be three words long and follow this format: (first word of Line 3)(preposition or conjunction) (first word of line 47)
•There should be no punctuation
Lizzy Nov 2014
I find it hard to believe
Something so healing
could be so harmful

I can't see why it would matter to anyone
How I medicate with self prescribed medicine
I don't see why you would care

Whats the difference
If I drown myself in water or alcohol
I'm still going to die
I never thought I'd miss something that caused me so much pain
I thought it right to assess some antidepressants, which philosophers should be more inclined to call mood enhancers.
(This was during my foray into human enhancement, substances intended to enhance physicality, cognition or mood. Nootropic compounds concern the latter two categories.)

The most commonly prescribed mood enhancers are serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SRIs), but it takes over a week for these compounds reach their peak effect. I therefore approached them with the notion that a limited dosage might point to their character which would further manifest in the long-term. (Side-effect were this unlikely to be fully manifest.) These considerations in mind, I set about acquiring a few miscellaneous anti-D's.

Fluoxetine was the first successful selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI), better known by its original brand-name Prozac. Fluoxetine has an acute biological half-life of between 1-3 days. Presence of a trifluoromethyl group on the compound deserves note, I wonder what the presence of electronegative fluorine atoms add to the psychoactive flavour of a compound (subjective effects).
I administered a single dose by mouth, there was some indication of subjective character. Light serotonergic sensations and seemingly benign mood-dampening, there is a ****** towards the positive. Waking headspace relatively uninteresting. Observed hints of oneirogenesis, did not manifest in enough character to be detailed - a sort of vivid, 'pulsive wandering, more pronounced in contrast to its waking character.
Good experiment, intresting results.
Ligand     Ki (nM)   Ki (nM)
Target      Flx            Nflx
SERT        1               19
NET         660           2700
DAT         4180         420
5-HT2A   200           300
5-HT2B    5000         5100
5-HT2C    72.6          91.2
α1             3000         3900
M1            870           1200
M2            2700         4600
M3            1000         760
M4            2900         2600
M5            2700         2200
H1            3250         10000

Escitalopram is an SSRI commonly prescribed for major depression and generalised anxiety. It is the (S)-stereoisomer of citalopram. The biological half-life is of escitalopram is between 27-32 hours.
I administered a dose and thought the phenomenal serotonergicity less apparent than fluoxetine but then gastro-intestinal disturbance was noted, I correctly surmised it has a high affinity for 5-HT2C but was also surprised to find it is is quite adrenergic.
Any oneiric qualities were not readily apparent after a single dose, relatively little visual imagery which is understandable given its lack of affinity for 5-HT2A. I found this to be philosophically intresting. Mood elevation observed in bursts of conversation and as odd sensations, possible mental discomfort.
Ligand,
Recptr     Ki (nM)
SERT       2.5
NET        6,514
5-HT2C   2,531
α1            3,870
M1           1,242
H1           1,973

Venlafaxine is a selective serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor (SNRI). Venlafaxine and its metabolites are active for about 11 hours.
Initial subjective effects similar to a very light empathogenic stimulant. Perception of altered attention-span/increased reflexive response; energising yet paradoxically much yawning.
Ligand,  Vnfx      Dvnfx
Recptr    Ki(nM)  Ki(nM)
SERT  ­    82           40.2
NET       2480        558.4

Tianeptine is a tricyclic antidepressant (TCA) with an unusual mechanism of action. It is an atypical agonist of the μ-opioid receptor and has been described as a (selective) serotonin reuptake enhancer (SRE). It has a short duration as sodium salts [prescribed form] of between 2-4 hours but as sulfate this can be notably extended, some of its metabolites are active for longer than tianeptine itself.
Definitely anxiolytic, quite artificial; possible aphrodisiac. I find its opioid activity dissuading, requires utmost caution.

Moclobemide is a reversible inhibitor of monoamine oxidase A (RIMA), its monoamine oxidase inhibition lasts about 8–10 hours and wears off completely by 24 hours. Inhibiting the decomposition of monoamines (e.g. serotonin, norepinephrine and dopamine) increases their accumulation at an extracellular level. It tends to suppress REM sleep and so it lacks oneirogenic properties.
Feeling of well-being, less constrained by the usual anxieties; openness. Relatively unnoticeable side-effects when diet is carefully managed. Made the mistake of eating a cheese and turkey sandwich (i.e. foodstuff rich in tryptophan), indications of a mild serotonin syndrome later became apparent. Symptoms included feelings of overheating and flushing, slight sweating, racing thoughts and anxious discomfort. A stark reminder of Shulgin's old adage: "there is no casual experiment".
Combination with a select few tryptamines (not 5-MeO-xxT) should be safe, and synergistic (perfect for pharmahuasca); reputed to potentiate GHB. However, generally it is extremely dangerous to combine with serotonergic drugs.
Lizzy Jan 2015
Our mutual friend convinced me to spill my secrets to him. I had been holding back the truth because it seemed that every time I let its sour taste roll off my lips, I was once again left alone. But my therapist says I need to open up to people, to get rid of these “surface relationships”. So, for once in my life, I took the doctor’s orders.
I wasn’t planning for it to happen this way though. My mom dropped me off at his house and I opened the door to deafening Joy Division; (not that I minded but) I was taken by surprise. It went as usual to start, danced to some music and shared some cigarettes. Then we get talking about our writing, how blunt and honest mine is and how cryptic and nonsensical his is. So I read him my most recent words; he found them amusing but began asking questions. I answered as non-descriptively as possible. But then we began talking about the horrors he’s seen. He told me that he didn’t know if he could see more skeletons and blood. But I told him about mine anyway.
We moved to the porch so he could have his cigarettes. And I began to let my guard down. I told him about my ****** past and gory thoughts. I told him, with hesitation, that I was trying so hard but it’s a cycle. And finally, I stutteringly told him about my obsession with perfection. He knew I wasn’t normal but he didn’t know I forced myself to expel calories. He seemed un-phased and unimpressed. There was a brief silence before he said “What do you want from me?” What did I want?  I thought all I wanted was to tell him the truth and let him in but he had me second guessing. I did my best to answer the question how I thought he wanted.
He went on to tell me his drugs could help. I was already filled with prescribed and un-prescribed chemicals, but now he wanted me to add to the toxic brew flooding my veins. “I think dropping some good acid with some good people could change your perspective on things”. No ****. It would completely boil the poison that was already within me. I began to feel anger swell inside me, how could he suggest something so stupid? What have I gotten myself into? I respectfully declined his offer and did my best to pretend he never said that.
When suddenly he sat down, looked me in the eyes (mine quickly shifted from his) and said “Ask me about David”. David? What did he have to do with any of this? What kind of reverse psychology ******* was he trying to pull? I complied and began to ask about the day’s events and about David as a person. But apparently these weren’t the right questions.
Eventually he drove me home. I hopped out of the car and so did he. (That’s a first.) As we hugged goodbye, I knew what was coming. I went to pull away but he pulled me closer. That’s when I was positive I was about to hear it. He gently let go and said,
“Lizzy, I think we have to take some time apart.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t do this right now.”
I pulled away from his hand and turned to walk inside before I punched him right in his oddly prominent jaw. Right before I opened the door I turned back to him one last time. His eyes looked sad and seemed to say “I’m sorry”. While I’m pretty sure mine said “*******.”
My hypothesis was confirmed. No one wants to hear the sob story. No one wants to be around the freak. I’m starting to think I really am better off with “surface relationships”.
Steve Page Jul 2016
There're swords,
lots of them,
and long-bows,
with fresh, eager arrows
jostle with notched expert axes;

legendary hair frame braided beards
flowing into refilled tankards
drowning curses through broken teeth
gnawing at poor personal hygiene
across the stench of the public tavern
as granite-stares challenge
bone-shattering laughter.
-
All as anticipated -
there's Orcs about
and the prescribed heroes assemble.
-
-
Slow rolling leaden mist cloaks howling creatures at dawn
from deep within the forest,
then disabling rain falls at dusk
and steel clashes with steel in the storm…
-
All these exploits ferment short of full strength
and stretch onto a wide Winter screen
before facing the final critical battle
for a 12A Christmas.
Inspired by Peter Jackson
carminayasmin Aug 2018
bathing myself in this thirsting quench
and now I’ve come to see you
as a drug. a pill.
but not prescribed.
     
Staring blackly at me
on my bedside table
                  and it’s teasing me.
teasing me with the sugar cane
that erupts when it skims my tounge -
I drool.

alluring my own deception  with your
succulent crescendo
that unravels it’s way down my whole
     voice until there’s none left.
And its just the way it sets me so ablaze
that I cremate casually  in your
immaculate ignite.

                       Knuckles clench to restrain that
                 sentiment that nostalgia
             that world that lies behind your door I always see myself
            linger through ghostly.



I’ve never been
29 August
my urge my battle to stop myself from you
Jane Doe Aug 2018
His thin shoulders,
Dutch nose

the hair at his temples is grayer than when we met
five years ago.

Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

My love for him
is a ships in the night love.
We circle, cutting separate pathways through
a vast ocean, on course for something

something

that keeps us signaling
onward, onward.

We look to the past privately but do not
speak of it.

The times our bodies touched.

I count them (I think he also does.)

One: the way I used to graze his arm with my hand
Two: an accident, swaying with music, too close
Three: drunk with the courage to kiss one another
Four: sweat, bed, the sun rose and I held his hand at the door
Five: years later, a hug that lingered,

the times we are allowed to touch one another,
hellos and goodbyes, in cars and trains.
We continue to pass one another.

And when we talk, we talk
and laugh and I feel a churning of waters,
a warm ocean swell that says: this is it!
Hold this.

The tide runs out,
Ships press forward on prescribed routes
through blind oceans.
eleanor prince Aug 2018
windmills turn
slicing days
as prescribed

moving water
as they do
set troughs

can't complain
there is no point
cycles set in place

grids buckle
like we're
trapped

live chequered lives
without ourselves
on deck

though paths
with every step
trod blind

at close of day
did we not take
that road

for steering wheel
this hand
grabbed

let's harness Self
remove the screen
and see

in this precinct
or yonder place
we've opted for

we took a route
with outcome
flawed
so often it seems easier to remain the victim - we aren't really seeing we are ultimately responsible for what we think and do
N Sep 2018
waiting for death...

the empty bottle of pills layed on my bedside table,
so much pressure in my head it feels like it's going to explode.
my chest with a pain so indescribable,
my head starting to get foggy,

first few minutes...

laying in the back of my fathers car,
my head in my sisters lap with my face wet from her tears,
rushing to the ER,
everybody terrified yet i was at peace,

i felt like i could finally be free,
from all the pain and heartaches.
I felt relaxed, undisturbed, ready for death.

first few hours...

laying in the hospital bed,
alive.

i stare at the ceiling with a blank expression,
ignoring all doctors, nurses, therapists, and social workers
that try to talk to me or ask questions.
i barely spoke a word.

they inspected my wrists for cuts,
faint scars, unfound fresh cuts on my hips.
this was never addressed or even commented on by my parents.

my sister held my hand constantly,
sat in that chair with no intentions of leaving,
to comfort me.

first day back...
i had not been at school for afew days,
rumors had gone around,
friends who knew how unstable i was had been talking,
people would approach me and ask what happened,
i got weird looks and stares,
i got so many questions.

first week...
i sat in my chair in the classroom in a shocked silence,
i didn't speak a word at school for a whole week.
a blank stare on my face all day,
constantly wishing that i was never brought into that hospital,
wishing they didn't save me.

first month...
i slept so much yet never felt rested
my sister felt like the only person giving me the support and love that i needed,
the only person to text me throughout the day,
the only person to keep me company,
the only person to get me to speak about how i was feeling,
the only person to remind me every single day how much she loved me.

second month...
i hold back my tears in english.
as we watch a movie about a girl that commited suicide.

third month...
i let small things get to me while locked in my room,
feeling so numb that i slit my skin so i can feel something,
so i can see if i'm still alive or not.

fourth month...
i want to give up again

fifth month...
i get prescribed medications for depression


people don't understand what it's like
to awake every morning,
and all they can wonder is
why they had even awoken

to pick up all of their pieces,
and put them back together
but still feel like they're broken

to say all that they can say,
and still feel like there's more
yet every word has been spoken,

slowly becoming immune to my emotions,
with my lungs incapable of letting air out,
with the pain buried within and unable to turn into tears.

to go to sleep every night,
and the only hope they have
is that their eyes will not open.

now...

i am still healing, on my way to recovery
i am reminded of all the pain i've endured through the years
it used to be etched into my body

i regret it yet also embrace it
because i am strong,
and i will survive.
AD Mullin Oct 2014
The first time I truly stepped into the mystic
For a suspended period
Those close to me watched with amused
Concern

Later on I would find out that this place was called hypo-mania
A lower energy level than mania
Recognized by the p-doc's as a creative place
But also a place of warning

Cause what comes next?
Mania
For me it was spiritual; I was playing in the aether
I was living the Tao; I instinctively called it Source

I was studying to be a scientist at the time
So this didn't make a lot of sense
The data didn't support the hypothesis
Had I just eaten one to many mushrooms as a teenager?

I already had a psychiatrist
I was being treated for ADHD
He had prescribed something called Concerta
An amphetamine; a ******-stimulant

At many points along the journey
I cursed the day I ever heard of psychiatry
I'm sure that the neuro-chemical pathways opened up by Concerta
Had something to do with my awakening

Those first days near Source made me realize I needed some guidelines
Mine were informed by my indigenous heritage
Only take what you need (i.e. sip, don't gulp from the River Tao)
Find your foundation: my rock was integrity, eventually leading to authenticity

Even with these guidelines, I couldn't maintain the healthy place they were calling hypo-mania
I had too much toxicity in the relationships around me
I couldn't fully elucidate what I was seeing and feeling
And my 7 kettles were on a full rolling boil

I was draining myself
I drove myself into madness
I was trying to sip from source and live my truth
But I wasn't honouring the nature of the Tao

It was Helter Skelter:
'So you go back to the top of the slide
And you turn and you go for a ride
And I get to the bottom and I see you again'

Over the next 3 years
I would lay down what I now think of as my
4 pillars; four hospitalizations
Well over one hundred days in the Cuckoo's Nest

The first hospitalization I went happily
I was going to teach and inspire the sickies
It's hard to get healthy in a place of illness, though
I came out still a little hypo-manic but went into a deep, dark depression
After finding out what those around me really thought

The second hospitalization, I went against my will
The doctor's were inconsistent, I found flaws in their logic
They looked at me like I was a flaw
They tried to prescribe health at me; I told them to *******

At that point I was not happy with the Canadian health care system
Health, first and foremost, was a public good
This ******* the individual's rights
I wasn't a danger to myself or others but I was a risk so there goes 70 days of my life

I was fortunate to have the support of some important people
They made sure my finances, among other things, were maintained as I tried to make it back to the ordinary
After my second hospitalization I really began to delve into the idea of holistic healthcare

It was after my second hospitalization that I made my first Hero's Journey
I was playing the role of a white blood cell for Gaia
I had my first three sweats within a month of each other
I met many shaman and I'm pretty sure I began my own residency

I put 10,000 km on my trusty steed
Chasing windmills
Sancho Panza by my side
< --- -- - Vancouver, NYC, Los Angeles, 'da bridge - -- --- >

My third hospitalization was the third act of this Hero's Journey
I was pushing it, reckless; I stopped taking my prescribed medicine
I ended up in the City of Angels of all places
Straight outta Compton!

My fourth hospitalization (and final pillar) was last summer
This time I ended up in Billings, Montana
The American model places the onus of health on the individual
I could have stepped out of that hospital at any point but I now had the wisdom to know what I did and did not need

Even though I speak of four pillars
There is always a fifth element
Her; the one
She woke me up to my soul's purpose

We met shortly before my fourth hospitalization
(You've got to use the fourth, Aaron)
She was a stranger in many ways
Still is but why does she feel so familiar?

She walked me through Dante's Inferno
She had spent time in her own non-ordinary reality
She left behind a map and published it
Through her bravery, I was able to find my way out of the inferno

And through her bravery, I was able to publish my map
http://www.bipolarorwakingup.com/
Prescribed drugs
Sipped with liquor

A lethal cocktail
Genre: Clinical
Theme: A taste of life
Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2014
My Second Letter to Allen Ginsberg
Dear Allen,
Almost five years ago, I wrote you a letter, and in
That letter, I purged my drunkenly woeful cries
That seem so first-world now and naïve –
The things I grimed over with luxuries I didn’t
Realize that rubbed against my plump limbs
Like millions of felines poised at the
Tombs of pharaohs.

Oh, Allen, I’m so tired –
These politics, and poly ticks, so many ticks that
Annoy my tics. Allen! I smear your name so liberally
Against this paper like primer because the easiest way
To coerce someone into listening to you like
A mother
or predator
tugging or nibbling on your ear –
Swatches of velvet scalped from a ****’s coat
Are you and I talking to ourselves again?
Candid insanity : Smoky hesitance.

Dear Allen, I’m so tired –
Yes, I love wearing my ovaries on the outside like
Some Amazonian soapbox gem glistening from beneath
The iron boots of what the newspapers tell me while
I cough at them with the hurdled delicacies of alphabet soup.
Give vegetables a gender and call them onions, Allen.
Sullied scratch-hicks pinioned feet from slapping
Society’s last rung on the ladder.
Ignore the swerve of small-town eyes.
Scapulas, stirrups, pap smears, and cervical mucus – now do you know who we are?

That fingernail clipped too short, Allen. We’ve all got AIDs
And AIDs babies, haven’t you heard? Hemorrhaging from the political
****** and out – they haven’t reached the heart.  
Since when have old white men given a **** about some
13 year old’s birth control? I’m riding on the waves of the
Parachute game and I swear this abortion-issue is just a veil outside Tuskegee University
Being further shove over plaintive eyes, swollen and black.
Pay up and
shut up.

I still remember my first broken *****, Allen.
Can you tell me all about your first time?
The vasodilatation that made veins rub against skin,
Delirious brilliance : unfathomable electricity.
I made love during an LSD experience, Allen,
And I am not sorry. I see cosmic visions and
Manifest universal vibrations as if this entire world is
A dish reverberating with textiles and marbles, and
All are plundering the depths of the finished wine
Bottle roasting in the sink like Thanksgiving Turkey.
The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.
The opening, between you and you, occupied,
zoned for an encounter,
given the histories of you and you—
And always, who is this you?
The start of you, each day,
a presence already—
Hey, you!

Ah, Allen, if you are not safe, then I am not safe.
And where is the safest place when that place
Must be someplace other than in the body?
Am I talking to myself again?
You are not sick, you are injured—
you ache for the rest of life.

Why is it that I have to explain to my students that
sometimes what I'm spouting is prescribed by a pedagogical pharmacy --
but all they want to know is "what do the symbols on the television mean?"
I am completely aghast against the ghosts of future goners --
I am legitimately licensed to speak, write, listen like some mothers --
I am constantly cajoling the complex creations blamed on burned-out educators --
I am following the flagrant, fired-up "*******"s tagging lockers --
Pay up and
shut up.

Yes, and it’s Hopeless. Allen.
Where did we get off leaping and bounding into
The dogpile for chump change jurisdiction, policing
The right and the left for inherent hypocrisies when
Poets are so frightful to turn that introspective judgment
Upon ourselves?
We didn’t see it coming and I heard the flies, Allen.
Mean crocodile tears. Flamingo mascara tracks
Up and down : up and down: bow – bow – bow – bow
Buoyant amongst the misguided ******* floating around
In the swirlpool of lackadaisical introspection.
What good is vague vocab within poetry?
Absolutely none.
Would you leave the porchlight on tonight?
Absolutely, baby.

Dear Allen, would you grow amongst the roots and dirt
At the knuckles of a slackjawed brush of Ever-Pondering Questions
Only to ask them time-and-time-and-time-and-time-again.
Or pinch your forehead with burrowed, furrowed concentration upon those
Feeble branches of progression towards something that recedes further
And further with as much promise as the loving hand
Attempts to guide a lover to the bed?

Allen, I wish to see this world feelingly through the vibrations of billions of bodies, rocking and sobbing, plotting and gnashing like the movement of a million snakes, like the curves collecting and riding the parachute-veil.

Ah, Allen! Say it ain’t so! Sanctified swerve town eyes.
And everything is melting while poets take the weather
Too personally
And all the Holden Caulfields of the world read all the
*******’s written on the walls and all the Invisible Men
Eat Yams and all the Zampanos are blind and blind
And blind and blind and blind and blind
Yet see as much as Gloucester, as much as Homer,
As much as Oedipus.

Oh, Allen, do you see this world feelingly
and wander around the desert?
Colored marbles vibrating on the curtailed parachute paradox.
Lamentation of a small town’s onion. Little do we know, Allen,
That what you cannot see, we cannot see, and we are bubbling
Over in the animal soup of the proud yet weary. I can see,
However, how the peeled back skulls of a million
Workboots and paystubs may never sully the burden
Of an existential angst in miniscule amounts.
Pay up and
shut up.  

My dearest Allen, there is always a question of how
The cigarettes became besmirched with wax to complement
What was once grass, and
What was once a garish night drenching doorknobs.
The night's yawn absorbs you as you lie down at the wrong angle
To the sun ready already to let go of your hand
As you stepped, quivering, on to
The shores of Lethe.
Anya Apr 23
I’ve been drinking…

Way too much of pain lately
Letting myself get drunk
on misery
Sleepwalking through life
Balancing on the edge
Self destructing

I’ve been eating…

Too much fear for a while
Letting negativity slip
under my skin
Poisoning me
Blurring my vision
Filling me up

I’ve been sick…

So sick and tired
Of self medicating
Using drugs prescribed by evil
Being addicted to self harming
Doubting

I’ve been living…

In my own private little hell
Build with my own hands
Suffocating me with
the power of hate
Force feeding with meals
of neglect

It’s time…

The time has come
to start a new diet

It’s time to love myself.
Kelly McManus Jun 27
What can be prescribed
in an artificial world
but a placebo
                         Kelly McManus
Christy Lei Oct 2018
the big white capsule
prescribed for
travellers’
wanderlust
dissolves
swiftly
inside
the sky:
we have all
become the clouds.

//

strangers shared a wet kiss
by the frozen blue
margarita
sea.
hot
saliva
simmering slow.

//

as the ferry pulls
away,
the city’s landscape
fades
as if our civilization
is a mirage —
a lucid dream
shimmering
blue & surreal.
i hate taking tests
my handwriting is not the best
i wish cried a lot less
i experience WAY too much stress
i never feel the need to dress for success
i just barely learned how to play chess
i've got a lot of secrets i don't plan to confess
i slept all day, but i still need a rest
i don't know why everything has to be a contest
i really don't like movies about the wild west
i think my favorite word just might be yes
school is such a pest
i've never stuck gum under a desk
i get one penny a month in interest
another word for a clown is a jest
i've never read consumser's digest
my prescribed medicine is the only controlled substance i ingest
i am firmly against ******
i don't understand what makes the shaving of a citrus a zest
the top of a soundwave is called a crest
birds keep their eggs inside of a nest
i really think this idea has me possessed
its not even that good but i keep making progress
i'm gonna end this before it all becomes a mess
i hope my rhymes have left you impressed
Next page