"scoundrel" poems
China charges 1 million annually
For each panda in our zoos
If we won't pay in full
Then the pandas we will lose
Nasty Panda's the exception
No one wants him here or there
He was paid 1 million dollars
To abscond and disappear!
Here comes the Nasty Panda
~He's much more than you can bear
He's such a nasty panda
~He leaves cooties everywhere
Beware of Nasty Panda
~He do anything he please
Stay clear of Nasty Panda
~He eats shoots and leaves
I smelled him 'fore I seen 'em
That black and white pariah
Slippin' slidin' in my kitchen
On smooshy mushy pulp papaya
I yelled for him to stop
And I told him where to go
Wink and laugh was all he did
With a Homer Simpson "D'oh!"
Here comes the Nasty Panda
~He's much more than you can bear
He's such a nasty panda
~He leaves cooties everywhere
Beware of Nasty Panda
~He do anything he please
Stay clear of Nasty Panda
~He eats shoots and leaves
He hasn't bathed in ages
Masked by quarts of cheap cologne
His furry skin sweat-sticky
From the surface to the bone
Smelly cigar and ***** breath
Plus an air of upper-crust
Please keep your kids away
Cuz that nasty bear can cuss!
Here comes the Nasty Panda
~He's much more than you can bear
He's such a nasty panda
~He leaves cooties everywhere
Beware of Nasty Panda
~He do anything he please
Stay clear of Nasty Panda
~He eats shoots and leaves
If you meet up with Nasty Panda
Better turn around and run
You're bound to lose your money
And your wits before he's done
Don't shed tears for Nasty Panda
Cuz he likes the way things are
Don't forget to hide your keys
Else he'll drive off in your car!
Here comes the Nasty Panda
~He's much more than you can bear
He's such a nasty panda
~He leaves cooties everywhere
Beware of Nasty Panda
~He do anything he please
Stay clear of Nasty Panda
~He eats shoots and leaves
Here comes the Nasty Panda
~He's a scoundrel and a ***
He's such a nasty panda
~He's as nasty as they come
Beware of Nasty Panda
~He's gonna raise a stink
Stay clear of Nasty Panda
~He's much nastier than you think
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 6:58 PM UTC
The sakura tree
is dead you tailpipe fiend
you coal mine scoundrel.
.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
Harry Potter marathons
Keeps my mind going strong
Feeds my imagination
Hogwarts is my destination
Fun times can be found
Magical abilities will abound
Harry has a path to follow
Leading up to Deathly Hallows
Ron and Hermione his best friends
Stick with him to the bitter end
Dumbledore a blessing to behold
Guides Harry as his life unfolds
Snape was such a scoundrel
Turns out he's quite wonderful
In the end you will see
There's nothing better than family
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
My manner of thinking, so you say, cannot be approved.
Do you suppose I care? A poor fool indeed is he who adopts a manner of thinking for others! My manner of thinking stems straight from my considered reflections: it holds with my existence, with the way I am made. It is not in my power to alter it; and were it, I’d not do so. These manners of thinking you find fault with is my sole consolation in life; it alleviates all my sufferings in prison, it composes all my pleasures in the world outside; it is dearer to me than life itself. Not my manner of thinking but the manner of thinking of others has been the source of my unhappiness. The reasoning man who scorns the prejudices of simpletons necessarily becomes the enemy of simpletons; he must expect as much, and laugh at the inevitable. A traveler journeys along a fine road. It has been strewn with traps. He falls into one. Do you say it is the traveler's fault, or that of the scoundrel who lays the trap? If then, as you tell me are willing to restore my liberty if I am willing to pay for it by the sacrifice of my principles or my tastes, we may bid one another an eternal adieu, for rather than part with those, I would sacrifice a thousand lives and a thousand liberties, if I had them. These principals and these tastes, I am their fanatic adherent; and fanaticism in me is the product of persecutions I have endured from my tyrants. The longer they continue their vexations, the deeper they root my principles in my heart, and I openly declare that no one need talk to me of liberty if it is offered to me only in return for their destruction.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
She cringes at night, recalling the indelible days where she lie
curled in a ball, hiding from the scoundrel who
attacked her mind, her heart, and her soul, leaving her with nothing but
rancid memories of a living hell, but
even though she appeared live and well
dreary darkness loomed in the body of
Scared
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
My ***** Lover
Irrationality always wins
Chicago is aspirated beast
Braggart forced laugh
I had a vision but I have no vision
Dreamed I was making out with a woman
Who had long stretchy pink octopus tentacles
Sedulously legato ephemera
Growing from external rim of ******
Sobriquet inimical desiccation
One tentacle wrapped around and tickled
Diurnal nugatory verisimilitude
While other squeezed testicles
What was I talking about, oh yes
Everything got out of hand
Expect unthinkable gusting winds
To huff puff blow house down
Filthy rotten scoundrel but
Started out so sweet
Inchoate caliphate apocryphal
Wish I had her gift
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
During the night, a dreadful night, a mole dug deep
deep and around my garden that I love
This cheeky mole then had the nerve to stop burrowing
and then surface to check the damage from above.
Up came his velvety head and sniffed the fresh air
parting my newly laid lawn like a digger.
Now he appears to be smiling the cheeky scoundrel
He is making the problem a whole lot bigger.
"Look what yo have done" I shouted "made a right mess
The piles of earth are everywhere with your coming and froing"
"With all due respect madam" sniffed the mole "what do
you expect when I cannot exactly see where I am going!"
"I have no map, no satellite navigation device, just my claws
I am just a mole and all that I can do is dig, I've no appliance
No shiny ***** no mechanical device, what do you expect
Honestly madam it is not exactly rocket science.
He tutted and rushed back down the hole leaving me
speechless and trying my best not to cry.
The mole had made his way underground by now next door
but my hard work was down the drain - I wonder why!
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
Going left a smile
green* bluesy* drift___
Getting out of debt
The heartedly so flowery
rosy ring around
Gifted box
Valentine Rosy
I box heads over
puppy tails
cozy firey
Love diary doing the
Cutesy
Bow Wow parade
Those red hot lips
cascades
she's... the... lie...
The hue (Anchor- Blue)
Gotcha "Eyes Baby blue
Clue"
To cross my red heart
And hope not to die
The Lady's
finger (Godiva)
I-spy finger*
Heartless Diva
The fork of the road
Lies of the
dead ringer
He points his finger
Face to two face
facelift?
Boom-Boom___
a car crash just a dash
Her beats and hearts
What a crush to her
___left
Tell me sweet lies
I box gift
Oh! Yes you're___ right
Like the scoundrel
The damsel in distress
sweet morsel
I sir box like spots spread
Like the (Chickenpox)
Hearing lies tons of
squirrels
Like Botox Plastic
Rascals
I-box ties
Hallmark, I love you lies
Superman Clark
Outfoxed the ballpark
Little lies blue
big shark
Smartphone I Sir bark
Red Valentine love walk
People are the luckiest
I- wish
Close your eyes sweet lies
Sweet I-Box in Trio
CEO Watching "TV FIO"
Podcast little lies turn
into big lies
Ballot Political list
Romantic cutout card lies
Tell me, Little Lies he trips
Electric lips music chair
Open eyes full shut lips
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 8:35 AM UTC
fragile heart she lay ruptured in my lounge chair
grey faced i mumble a few parting words over her
before i lay out the finest bone china
all the makings of tea and biscuits
all the fixings of ******
with the sounds of the snapping of necks
sharp wet sound fresh on the air
she was here to mourn her lover-boy
gone astray
i was here to see the deed done
i was the grey faced hangman
come to get his pennys
in my song you can hear the rope snap
in my heart you can feel the fall from the gallows
and my hangman's noose swinging in breeze
has its own peculiar creaking sound that sounds
like love to me
i was the grey faced hangman
that knows no sympathy
come now you wicked ones
sing my song with me
grey faced i lead the procession
up the graveyard road
the overgrown and thick summer feel to it
claws at the senses
but i keep walking stiffly
with the sound
of snapping necks ringing in my ears
its my song
he had cried like a child as they carried him to the gallows
he had begged and wailed
but my hangman's noose had claimed him
cold comfort awaits
to the tomb they cried out with joy
to the tomb with the scoundrel
while she lay weeping her lost lover-boy
and while grey faced i cleansed the world
of scoundrels like him
while grey faced i silently mourned
for i had run out of rope
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
I used to like you a lot.
i don’t know what ******* happened.
we’re children and you pushed me off the swings,
off the playground,
out of the park.
And now my best friend only wants
me for what i can say about you,
you sea urchin.
bouquet of prickling spikes
piercing my jagged rib bones.
rip through me,
feasting scoundrel,
you ***** you fox.
you viper.
wipe her from my soggy slate.
dinner plate? it’s empty.
everyone is the garbage disposal,
grinding my teaspoons of self-worth
into dusty pieces. i am the garbage.
and i never pegged you as one
to leave me in a
dark parking lot,
shadows curling their bony fingers
around my purple lungs,
but she found you making love to
him in the same car we sat.
the bull frogs saw what you did.
i’m warning you to stop pretending
like you’re still a fawn.
a doe-like female.
i can see through the speckles
on your face
and your mixed tapes.
i don’t have heart left for you,
you ******
kneel in front of his knobby
knees. beg,
*****
muck him up and then
lick him clean,
feline.
slink past me in the night,
in the broad daylight.
you are not a spy
i can see your arteries.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
I moved in with Mr McGoo , he seemed a pleasant bloke
a bit chatty for one but then beggars cant be choosers.
He gave me the guest room and a skeleton key and
a King James Bible. He left , mumbling something about an
Optometrist's appointment as he stumbled through the door.
The Flivver coughed, spat and rattled.Mcgoo was in control
and of he roared away still mumbling about pork bellies and such.
Herky jerky relic with a hurdy gurdy horn.
The winding stairs led me hither so down the rail I slid
In search of McGoo venture. To suss where the safe was hid.
Rumor has it that He struck it rich one day and promptly
sailed west and bought the House of Divine Pleasures
overlooking Frisco Bay. Who knew.
As luck would have it, he forgot to close the safe so
there it stood wide open a square hole in the southern wall.
The Standing Shiva glared at me his arms like deadly serpents
One named Beckon the next on Call. The other six arms bristled
with bronze and iron death.The Shiva winked his middle eye and
tears streamed from the other two.
The safe still hung wide open McGoo was such a bounder.
He knew me well and he could tell the weakness in my soul.
for he and I had broken bread and severed heads in youthful
days of yore. He knew I was a scoundrel and a thief.
The Shiva had a weakness for women and the drink and
him with eight arms and such became to be a bit much at the
pleasure spot in Frisco. He had to go. So
I turned and returned from the liquor cabinet a bottle of
McGoo's best bathtub Gin in tow. The Shiva came a running cross,
a smile a mile wide drooling. With arms outstretched, boy he could fetch.
Could not hold his spirits though. Never could. Out cold in no time flat.
The safe gaped open like the grave six deep.
So. I walked up slowly to it and strained to look within
There sat old McGoo's ear trumpet and spare glasses
a handful of rain checks stacked neatly in a corner.
Along with his last will and testament written out in Braille.
Just then I heard the Flivver pop. I had to stop.
close the safe. Empty the flower vase on Shiva.
Up the stairs I bounded. closed my door and started
Sleeping.
Oh McGoo , you've done it again.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 9:51 AM UTC
Arthur dear, don’t fret.
Papers, papers, get your papers.
I have never been to the sea. I always wanted to go to the sea.
No, never since my husband died.
Oh aye, a sight to behold.
The rascals of Ballydrim out in force.
The maid peept out the window.
The fryar and the nun.
An old man is a bed full of bones.
Is he not, is it not, is it not?
Rose is red and rose is white.
New new nothing.
Row well ye mariners.
I have never seen the sea.
The pauper and the layman, the priest and the scoundrel, all moving
with intent.
Sometimes, fleetingly, never anything less.
Profound, very, yes dreadfully profound.
Labour in vaine.
In great concentric circles about the time your husband died.
Biting the bullets one by one, out on the green fields of Amerikay.
Interest rates climbing on the national stew fund. Spiralling into a new dawn of exoneration of traditional values.
Gracie did all those things and more.
And the quaker danced.
Rose is red and rose is red.
For judge and jury.
Very very far.
Quite near actually.
Further than strictly possible.
In all reason dear.
75 miles from the sea. Exactly.
And another.
And another.
AND another.
Drawing to a conclusion.
Bliss.
Seemingly.
Fleetingly.
(pause)
Have at thy coat old woman!
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
~
on an evening dark,
in a garden afar,
eternity settled,
in a pivotal hour.
a son on his knees,
a cry out for grace;
an angel dispatched,
is a father's embrace.
in flesh, see him grasping,
wrestling with fear;
in spirit, triumphant,
as death is laid bare.
a struggle intense,
sweat running as blood;
salvation begotten,
conceived out of love.
in example embodied,
such a terrifying word;
forever redeeming,
my fallen world.
in that moment defined,
the cup is embraced,
a purpose divine,
restoring this race.
submissive love;
"not my will but yours."
scandalous love;
my hope it secured.
~
*post script.
endurance of the scandalous,
the rescue of the scoundrel,
full measure of the marvelous,
to re-ignite in us His candle.
Good Friday, my dear friends!*
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
A little trickster called Jack
Always prepared to condescend on what others lack
upon sprouting out like a clash of thunder
The body of the scoundrel split asunder
Now the victims intimidate what remains of Jack
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
Darkness, Swift, Cloak, Dagger!
from their chambers
to the graves
Gold, Jewels, Money, Things!
take them- dead
do not need
Alarm, Scatter, Escape, Alone!
no one's here
have no home
"Rascal', 'Scoundrel', 'Villain', 'Knave!"
tis not easy
to be so brave
Cold, Bitter, Empty, Silence!
not ideal
drift asleep
Nightmare, Shriek, Heart-Attack, Awake!
not of evil
but of pain
Hunger, Search, Nothing, Desperation!
those who deserve
not for me
"Blackguard', 'Crook', 'Devil', 'Fraud!"
corporate words
all they see
Vigor, Life, ****** Run!
shanty shacks
slummy slums
Jump, Drop, Grin, Vacate!
mis-misplaced riches
invariably shared
Search, Land, Sky, Sea!
live another day
thank thee
Galgooth, Rogue, Sinner, Saint!
agathokakological
we all need
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
Meandering footsteps throughout the Autumn darkness
Toward each sallow recluse of a moment
A simple ending ceaselessly beginning
With each sniff of smoldering residue from the grass
Beyond the harsh horizon of what may as well be eyelashes
And inside- yes, inside
Within the blank fortress
Is a scoundrel of a man, who
Knows not for what he’s come?
To die, dear dalliance; fickle, frolicking foal of the Frühling!
And out the pasture’s gateway
In the Autumn, in the Autumn
Unaware
Above the marshes and the moon-orb’s
Sweet icing on the water
In an eerie sort of night
Forgives the foal a mare’s ear
Silently reprising in delight
Yes, Yes it is the Autumn
And the riders are far from sight
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 12:30 AM UTC
World in Sight
full of fear and care
Behind this Eye
No way up to there
Dreams left unseen
deep dark prevalent
To the sweet scent
scoundrel life to change
Reflection of need
Causing me to bleed
Mile away to reach
journey in sky is sketched
Life with care
only fear for me
world of passionate
struggle still my aim
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
By T. A. Beale
I was working my garden on a warms summers day,
When a robin flew by, from across the way,
His wings tipped with silver, black brows over his eyes,
His robins red breast, you might have guessed,
but upon his cheek, a dark mark he could not disguise,
I laughed and I smiled as I cried aloud,
"Tis brave Robin Black-Cheek, a bird most renowned!"
He bowed and sang, “Good day to you sir! My chicks need a feeding!"
I nodded and said, "There's food underground, just follow around while I do
the weeding!"
So we set to work, and into each hole that I dug,
Mr Robin flew, and emerged bearing worms or a fat wriggling bug!
Time after time, with a beak full of grubs he'd return to his nest,
As the day grew long, I could not go on, I lay down my shovel, I needed a
rest!
Mr Black-Cheek hopped on my boot, and danced an impatient jig,
He looked at me and sang, "My chicks are still hungry! Why won't you dig?"
"Rest a while, lets take a moment to speak, tell me how you got that black scar on your
cheek!"
"Very well. But I warn you now, 'tis not a tale for the meek!”
I was guarding my garden when a rogue robin rival reproached me and said,
"I shall end your life, then take your wife, she will thank me when you're
dead!"
I swooped down to meet him, I perched on the fence,
I puffed my red breast and angrily sang, “Let battle commence!”
The scoundrel soared up, beak shining like steel in the sunlight, and he sliced my cheek!
Staggered and stunned I spun round, but soon I steadied, stood straight and showed my beak!
“T'was but a slight!” I swung at him, and continued the fight!
We ****** and we pecked, we riposte and we parried,
“Leave while you can! Too long have you tarried!”
We flew and we dashed, and in mid-air we clashed,
In a flurry of feathers we fought, a final fell blow and the foul fiend was fallen,
I sang with glee; for he was forced to flee!
I returned to my tree, now no one would dare challenge me!
He bowed again once his tale was told,
“Now dig me more grubs, afore this day grows old!”
I gladly obliged, for I'd made a new friend,
and we worked all day, until the end.
© Thomas A. Beale
2015
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
"I hate myself.
I'm so ******* worthless."
You know when you think something so much that it becomes a mantra?
You memorize each letter and you write it out a thousand times in your mind and you whisper it to yourself while you fall asleep?
You think it so many times that every time you close your eyes the words are there, painted on the backs of your eyelids and you can't ignore them at all?
Every breath in feels like preparation to say it over again and reply to the not-question posed by the universe at large over what your mantra is and you just know the answer no matter what?
Every thought loops back around to the words swimming in your head to the point you're wondering how you could have started in this world speaking anything else?
You bite your tongue and the blood tastes like those words and you just want to paint them on your skin to show the world your perfect mantra, the words that have forever been with you, that you never doubted once?
My mantra is a bad one.
I've been told, I'm not allowed to feel that way.
I have to love myself.
I have worth.
Even thinking those phrases makes my head hurt.
My mantra doesn't quell the spreading hollowness in my chest or quiet the white-noise of regret and hatred in my head.
But it doesn't make my demons angry, like the ones people force on me.
My mantra reminds me how to deal with the hollow void in my soul that tries and tries to swallow up my body and crush away everything else and leave a black hole in my place.
It tells me that with just a slim line, just a smooth slice to the wrist, I can stave off the void.
With just a small burn I can beat away the demons telling me lies.
I can convince myself to eat.
I can force my lungs to work.
I can make myself live, if I remember my mantra.
There are people who need me, broken though I am.
And I can't just let the void consume me, even if I should.
Even if its better to have this churlish waste of space
This disgusting, grating, barbarous, surly, persnickety, talentless, slow, moronic, lying, cheating scoundrel of a self wither away into nothing.
Even then.
I need to keep going.
I'm needed.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
My dearest Rocky,
You were too old.
Too old to chase after that mischief of mice.
But you were not to be halted.
And in return,
Hind legs destroyed.
Cut up and sewn together
In crisscross fashion.
Once a lazy *******
Then a lethargic moribund mutt.
(But still a *******
On your last leg, (or two) in a literal sense.
You dumb dog.
You balding, simple-minded scoundrel.
Christmas came and Christmas went.
A feast of elegance at your disposal.
Any indulgence you desired.
We bequeathed, as a last goodbye.
Brisket, frozen cream, pastries and more.
Up until the day, our eyes became sore.
One last car ride- One last roar.
One last breeze through your jowls.
Your clacking stomps and palsy-walsy howls,
Echo even now when I walk through the door.
Now silent and still, turned to ash and dust
I hope you’re herding that memory of elephants,
And leading that pride of lions,
In your infinite dream.
And remembering those who you brought joy.
But especially,
The one who carried you
Upstairs to bed
Every night.
I love you still, and always will.
Good boy, ******* good boy.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
She's hit the bottom far to long,
waiting,
breathing.
for someone to come along.
hating,
creating .
for something to happen,
with all in bad luck she points and blames.
chaos,
shame.
Selling your sins into heaven for fame!
scoundrel,
thief.
From Hades you came,
***** your finger from which came blood of grain,
truly beautiful for the great insane.
comfortable,
numb.
Tedious credulous liar,
shake down this cross and bear to save it,
as for my people their hearts you enslave it!
evil,
lucrative.
Down at the bottom she picks and gnaws,
tiny ***** fingers at the thick hard walls,
up the well as her faint raspy voice calls,
****** for you and ****** for all."
revenge,
bitter.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
“SHAME ON YOU”
By: F. Panerio
Shame on you!
Charlatan
Shame on you!
Phony
Shame on you!
Hoax
Shame on you!
Larceny
Shame on you!
Debauched
Shame on you!
Mendacious
Shame on You!
Superciliousness
Shame on You!
Snootiness
Shame on You!
Scoundrel
Shame on you!
And shame on me!
If we both alike!
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
i haven't known you that long
so i wasn't thinking of what could go wrong.
i liked all of you verily
thought we'd be more than friends happily.
but you were a scoundrel,
one i did not know too well.
you were a fabulist,
deceit is what you always insist.
i guess i was just too naive
in you i continued to believe.
now the red flags are waving at me,
telling me to go and fly free.
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 8:35 AM UTC
Two taken three with one left behind.
But behind was were learning and understanding abide.
Lost in the fur and silky escape.
I lied like a beast and frowned upon hate.
But deep in my heart it exists like a thistle.
Ready to stab and **** with a whistle.
He hastened to three and then four five and six.
He's a crafty one, I love him like thiiiiiiiiiiis much :3
Attune, attune the piano had played.
His first crush, his first love resounding of farewell bade.
How could he do it, lie like a ******
At first he pretended it was just a typo.
Lust became love
became understanding
became cunning.
From that cunning I was born, knight in white shining.
This process demoralized and impaled him on a spike.
The sociopath was here, and boy was he excited.
More love, more *** more destruction and death.
Noone will be spared from the pain I'll inflict.
I'm a cure to your idiocy
No way are you this stupid!
I can't cure you even with cupid
So farewell and find another person whos stupid
Live stupidly ever after.
Calling my name.
I'm the greatest you'll remember.
I'm a hateful scoundrel that plays in ****** mud.
A calm. A feeling unlike others. A goddess in white. Slit wrists, slit arms, slit thighs. But can you read me?
"Yes."
The impact and embarressment Oh my! I never thought I'd meet me here!
But can you clamber in me with my shell?
"Yes."
That's when I when I became flustered.
I lie, I cheat, I steal, I hurt. I break into hearts and rip out the girth.
Why are you here.
Why am I here.
The two are connected, lets find out how.
Two became two then two became one.
Death at his doorstep and me in the cage.
Solemn and waiting and believing as a sage.
Waiting. Waiting. Doubting. Hating. I revert, I go back on reverting.
I revert over and over and back again. Just what am I?
I'm nothing.
I'm nothing without another. So 8 months pass.. and so comes another. Another liar
Another fighter
Another lover
Another.
I fake. I hurt. I steal. I ****
And with that, My life summed up.
So recent.. It happened. A new reason to live. I only wish I could tear out my memories. I only wish those two dead people would be happy. I wish I had never been conceived out of pain. I am a tool to deal with this, a broken dismembered tool. They shouldn't be like me, I'm a one hit wonder. A lovestruck sociopath.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 2:37 AM UTC
Tears like waterfalls crash down in never ending emotion. Ripped from reality, doomed, hopless, under mind control; instability everywhere. She wanders through a nightmarish scene. A scoundrel who owns her every move, her thoughts a desperate secret she has to keep. Begging the pain to end, begging for answers to questions she cannot ask. What is love?
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC