"snobs" poems
I was walking down the street
Had an urge to *****
Saw a ***** dumpster
this looks nicer than the girl I dumped'r
I unzipped my pants
shat on the plants
got nice and hard
and shot off harder than a pornstar.
**** THAT DIDN'T RHYME)
I have too much time
because all I do is shoot slime
all over the back
of a president who is black.
I like *****
I bang *****
I make them ***
faster than a game of putt putt.
****** I CANT ******* RHYME)
All of you poetry snobs
are more stupid than calvin and hobbes
You will never be as successful as
Steve Jobs.
End of story. Because I am about to write another ****** poem.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
We all bear scars in one way or other.
Some from loving someone too deeply and some others from losing someone or something that you cared too much for.
Some scars are intentional while some others exist for stupid silly reasons.
Some we are but some we are not so proud of.
I have scars all over my body.
All over my mind and all over my soul.
I have scars on my brain due to over thinking and over analyzing incidents that haven’t even happened yet.
I have scars on my eyes for shutting it more often, for being blind to things that should’ve been taken care of.
I have scars on my nose from all those endless snobs and sniffles from my horrifying past relationships.
I have scars on my mouth from speaking the truth, only the truth and nothing but the truth.
I have scars on my neck from getting choked up on false love and fake proposals.
I have scars on my shoulders from lifting up responsibilities that I was accustomed to from an early age.
I have scars on my hands from holding onto things that weren’t supposed to be mine from the very start.
I have scars on my chest from my ice cold heart that has been stomped over and over multiple times.
I have scars on my lungs from the “occasional” stress buster cigarettes that I am addicted to every now and then.
I have scars on my stomach from one too many butterflies that flew when we first met.
I have scars on my legs from running, miles away from people and that place I used to call home.
I have scars on my skin from the many tattoos I got done that helps me reassure my self-worth.
I have scars on my soul from trying hard to pull myself together, calm me down and compose myself through the rampant storm that’s been raging in my life.
I have all these scars. All of them.
And they don’t scare me now even though they hurt like hell, at times.
They’ve become a part of me and looking back, they are just reminders of who I was, what I have been through my life and the person it has made me become.
They don’t scare me anymore because they define who I am now.
A survivor.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
The artist evokes his tormented psyche
Through gestural abstraction
a systematic colorfield emerges
The blurring of dreamworld and reality
All pretensions dissolve
But…
Critics still criticize
Snobs still scoff
the creative will still drink and drug themselves the death.
whichever way the wind blows
that’s where my dreams escape me
They transform to Queens of Hearts and Princesses of utter
Royal
Baroque
Beauty
Bygone
Be Gone
my heart must resist
I will not be controlled by the guild
Caravaggio kept painting until he got killed
Went insane like most artists
Couldn’t stop before he got his fill
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
Cinderella, why do you wish to be pretty?
What you have is called inner beauty
I’m not giving you my pity
Cinderella, Why don’t you stand up to those snobs?
They are garbage compared to you
The people who rob
End up blue
Cinderella, Why don’t you take what’s yours?
And not just dust either
Stop doing those chores
Cinderella, Why don’t you go out?
Not as a maid but who you really are
Go a different route
You will shine like a star
Cinderella, why don’t you let the beauty out?
The prince will like you for you
Go out and about
Forget the glass shoe
Cinderella, why don’t you forget its midnight?
Show the prince who you really are
You wont win without a fight
I’m telling you shine like star
Be yourself not someone else Cinderella, why do you wish to be pretty?
What you have is called inner beauty
I’m not giving you my pity
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
hey donald trump, why are you thinking people w2ho get wounded in battle aren’t heroes
cause if you think your a hero, your a hero of nothing
because **** fanning battled a shark, mate, and he deserves a reward
but you donald trump deserve nothing, nothing nothing
i have fought tooth and nail to prove that poor people have rights
and i ain’t into the army, but i know they are brave now here is we’re not going to take crap from trump anymore
ya know, when i first heard of him, i8 thought of professor plum or professor plunket
and you will never win my vote, if i was an American, no way hoi zei
i think i might spew, i think i might spew, i think i might spew on you trump, yeah
i disagree with your comment trump, nothing against you, just your comment
you sound so right wing, only allowing rich people honours
i ain’t into john mcCain either, but that is his views, and i hate your views even more
it makes people think you are crazy, a real crazy ************
people fight for the good of the nation , what do you do
i am designing homeless shelters, would you do that trumpet
i will party with all the poor people while rich snobs like trump wrecks the world with his selfish opinions
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
We're very much alike.
Poetry is our inspiration,
we were born writers.
People call us BBQ sauce snobs
wine connoisseurs
and brothers.
But he likes to dance
at night--
in the headlights
when the air pierces the skin.
His deep dark pockets
are an oblivion of cigarettes
and full minis of Jack.
Remind's me of Harpo.
He walks like a snake slithers--
body swaying
and a gleaming mischievous twinkle
in his eye.
We both enjoy crisp, autumn days,
but he prefers them cloudy--
dark.
He says it brings out the color
in the reds and orange leaves jumping off the trees to twist in the breeze.
Listening to stand-up is our solace,
though he says Hicks is god.
I say Carlin
His shadow reminds me of a demon--
the long lost son of Medusa.
He's not afraid to say what he thinks,
cause he knows he's right.
Sometimes I believe him--
he speaks with such nonchalant confidence.
There's always a needle on his words
swiftly flitting and flickering
like a flame he's flicking off his tongue.
And if his words hurt breaking the skin?
"Don't be such a ***** he'll snarl
before turning the charm back on
with a giggle and ironic wink.
He likes to collect
the faults in others
cause his thinks his **** don't stink.
He keeps reminding me of mine.
He enjoys needling
people.
We've known each other
for a long while.
Seems like longer....
but that's cause my roommate is me.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
Why say Greek Gods are fake
and Buddha artificial.
The only thing that is synthetic
is the church on its own.
Using money to help the snobs
than the mother's all alone.
Everybody has different,
interpretations about how this god should be worshipped.
It's still a god, with different names, with different ways of life.
Why hate?
What if one creator is the answer,
but different forms he made.
To reach out to the diversity of the humans that remain, but what if it's not one place after death, or a harsh judgement day.
Just all the afterlives living in harmony,
like the we try to live today.
But instead like Sunis and Shiites same beliefs, but different views,
we argue till the death of thousands,
till the deaths of me and you.
Everyone is looking for one thing: happiness after death.
Much like the perfection you search for before you take your last breath.
The body you always wanted, the grades you try to reach, the soul mate you would **** for just to finally meet.
One goal for all, but many different ways to reach.
So if true in life, like the religions that are taught, might you just take a moment and give a second thought.
Nothing may exist, or something might be true, but in the end it just depends on you.
Stick within the boundaries of your mind, or go ahead and charge through.
It's better to be open in thought of all of this, instead of dying and not getting your last wish.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Exclusively molded in the divine image
or egos big enough to declare it so
A dangerous theory
a disastrous belief system
Gardeners of Eden
turned stewards of entropy
Superiority conquest of nature
symbiotic balance forsaken
Jealous hoarders of spirituality,
sentience, self-awareness, intelligence
The irrational glorification of reason
despite a history of upheaval and war
Bullies on the playground of manifest destiny
exploitive excess worshiped as progress
Arrogantly intoxicated on the dregs of Pandora's jar
blindly stumbling toward self-destruction
Welcome to the valley of the shadow of death
Environmental Armageddon
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
They’s times when I
Jess cain’t say it good
And times when I am
Jess plain amazing;
Then teachers and snobs
Seem to all agree and
Subject whut I say to
Harsh degrees of hazing.
It seems like they ain’t never
Said the wrong word before
Whatever, they jess don’t
Seem to put me on ignore
And move to importanter things
Than grammarical stuff;
As fer me, I’m jess turnin’ them off
‘Cause I have had me enough.
I only had me an education
Up to the eleventh grade or so
A whole buncht of that silly stuff
I got told but I still don’t know.
My dad and my mom too
They got taught just like me.
And I talk good enough for them.
Change my perfectly acceptable talk?
Really now, the chances are slim.
We say ain’t and cain’t and acrost
And other such acceptable words.
And some of the more ‘proper’ things
Ain’t nothin’ but jess plain absurd.
Like widdershins and tatterdemalion,
Sequipedalian, octogenarian as well.
If I’m expected to talk like that
Y’all can just go straight to hell.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 7:40 PM UTC
I may only be seventeen years old, but I can already tell you this
that I am sick and tired
I am sick of the people who are judgmental and the people who are unkind
The people who tell Atheists they are going to hell and the people who mock Christians for wanting something to believe in
I’m sick of the hateful way people speak to each other and how everyone tries to form some kind of negative opinion about one another
I’m sick of the bullies in school who drive kids to suicide
and the parents who never taught them to be kind
I’m sick of macho boys thinking its cool to hate and easy girls with zero self-esteem
but more than that I'm sick of the society that made them feel this way
I’m tired of the snobs who turn up their noses at self-expression and of the hipsters frowning upon the so called conformist squares
I’m tired of making my own life choices based on a fear of someone else’s negative reaction I’m tired of people who look for the flaws in my life instead of basking in the beauty of their own.
I am fed up with people who complain about the clinically depressed and the people who spitefully use their own rain cloud to block out the sun
I’m fed up with people who don't know how share and people who take advantage of their friends
I’m fed up with cheaters, liars and the inconsiderate
All in all I am fed up with cruelty itself
It serves no purpose other than to blind people from the beautiful reality of our lives
Hatefulness needs only to be replaced by love and acceptance and then perhaps there will be an overall higher level of happiness
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
I entered the display case
of people educators
subsidizing snobs
the multirich and companies
among tourists and inhabitants
who want to be seen
in the museum café and
with sophisticated pastry lard
the conversation with careless clauses
they quote from an authority
whom nobody has to understand
to get the intention
of the praised artists
The shop was crowded
Spotlights on show-pieces
fancy coffee table books
and chic presents
for the season and the next holidays
Especially the past
is on sale, postcards
of the attractions
and sights of the city
interchangeable
like the collections
which graduated stylists
cast in international moulds
to magnets for visitors
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 2:48 AM UTC
I thought for sure;
I had it planned out.
I was going away,
I was fading out.
The light was gone,
from my eyes,
from my soul.
Hope had carried on,
to someone who was willing to hold it close.
"I got a Job!"
I thought that was great.
Wasn't it good enough for you?
"You work where? What a shame.
But I guess it suits you."
So what if it's the Dump?
Its a job someone's gotta do.
besides,
someone has to clean up after snobs like you.
So I do.
But I admit,
you had me going.
You got me down this time.
Which is funny because I thought,
family was supposed to help you through the grime.
But no,
you put me here.
because time and time again,
you kept telling me I was worthless,
and that I'd never fit in.
But you lied.
My friends there are like a family,
they all stand up for me.
They treat me how I should be:
like a ******* human being.
You almost made me **** myself.
That should make you ******* sick.
But I think that the anger
gives me an extra kick.
It makes me realize,
that not everyone is like you.
There's still some decent people,
and before I wouldn't have thought it true.
But there, I met two people,
who've truly shown me the way,
that the way to live my life,
is to **** what people say.
I'm happy being me,
and I'm happy I met you,
because now I'll live forever,
just so I can ******* smite you.
And I'll be happy.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
There he waits,
the Nice Guy,
looking academic
and out of reach
in his tweed.
There's something
feminine in the way
he crosses his legs,
draping right over left in the fainting chair.
There you are, across from
him, at this party your
roommate dragged you to.
And you ask how he is.
He ushers you to his chair.
Sit down, sit down. I insist.
You know, he says. Most people
would tell you they're good or just fine.
The Nice Guy reassures you he is
not most people. He's a Nice Guy;
he's down with feminism, waves
One through Three.
He has a dog named Atticus.
They frequent open-air bars
in the summer.
He's a Nice Guy, an old soul,
someone who should have been
a young man in the 60s.
God, he has so many female friends
he tells you, leaning on the banister,
sipping on Glenfiddich.
You wonder how he is. This was your question.
He has so many female friends. Notice
how I'm stressing the word friends, he says.
I do, you say.
He's a Nice Guy and all these female friends
they're all the same. They love the bad boys,
the rich snobs, the ******* jocks.
I don't, you say.
Oh, sure you do, he Nice Guy-splains to you.
And there's a golden light coming from the chandelier
behind him, and he looks so holy and pure as he tells
you how one day Tara, Sam, Whitney, and Amber
will wake the **** up and realize just what they're missing.
But by then, this Nice Guy will have rambled on. He'll become
someone's second husband. A Good Woman will see how precious, how rare this Nice Guy truly is.
Okay, you say.
Prove me wrong, the Nice Guy says. He leans in closer.
You can smell the scotch. Prove me wrong.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
there was a sky show over Sydney this morning and if you are wondering
who was involved, well it was a huge party on jupiter and saturn and i was
the host i sang
hot hot hot and spicy baby
hot hot hot and really spicy baby
yeah nobody does chicken like KFC
and if you are wondering where i am, just go to Sydney and look to the sky
and look up all so high, yeah mate yeah it is so fun
yeah kick the rich snobs up the ***
you see i put this concert on to bring a bit of excitement to this city but you only saw
the lights, i can guarantee that what i say here is what the dead had a finger on
you see here is Slim Dusty with his song
it’s lonesome away from the kindred and all
on a cold sydney morning a view worth seeing
you see the people are fools right on our mother earth
because only the cosmic and the dead knows what went on
you see the barman is waiting for his stock to arrive
and it is mighty hard to get there by get in your car and drive
i told the barman give us methane oh yeah
so we dan enjoy the break in a party with methane
you see the green was the methane spilling all over sydney
but none of it was spilt, here is Robert Palmer with Addicted to love
the lights are on and Sydneym is home and the people are watching
a great light show with loads of great colours that you have ever seen
you see you can’t be seen you can’t be viewed y
you like to think that you are in a wonderful party
with me and slim dusty and many many more and the great smoky dawson
you see you will like to think that you are enjoying yourself and you are
in the way, of being addicted to love
you might as well face it your addicted to love
might as well face if your addicted to love
you might as well face it your addicted to love
oh yeah, the party is on and now here is our song duncan by slim
i would love to have a beer with duncan and he’ll have a beer with me
you see we’ll be good mates forever and we light up a party in the sky of sydney
we drink all over the country, getting ****** as we might do
i would love to have a beer with duncan cause he is our mate
i would love have a beer with baz boy, yeah i would love to have a beer with him
yeah we will drink all over this god forsaken land and in the cosmos, oh yeah mate yeah
drinking is fun with baz boy, yeah drinking is fun oh yeah
yeah i would love to have a beer with bas boy, cause he is our friend
and now here is briano alliano with fly burgers
fly burgers are good enough to eat
fly burgers are such a tasty treat
just catch a blowie between two buttered buns
add some lettuce and tomato and have so much fun
in sydney there is a light show from outer space
it’s really the dead people having the biggest party oh yeseree
a fly will come into dads methane, and totally splash all over him
fly burgers are good enough to eat
fly burgers are such a tasty treat
just catch a blowie before he ruins the party
add some lettuce and tomato
and have so much fun
and now here is whitney houston, ready to party, hardy
oh i wanna dance with somebody
i want to feel the groove with somebody
oh yeah, i wanna dance with somebody, with somebody who loves me
one dance and a spirt of methane to tip all over me
you see the light show looks like it’s so fun, come and cheer on me
and welcome all the dead, you see this is a sign, that just because your dead doesn’t mean
your gone from us oh yeah
i wanna dance with somebody, i wanna feel the heat with somebody
i wanna dance with somebody, with somebody who loves me
and what a party this has turned out to be
right over the sydney sky
sydney sydney sydney oi oi oi
and now that is it, what a fantastic show, we might come back with more party moves on that position over sydney
sydney sydney sydney oi oi oi, and let’s party cosmos
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
Headphones and fried food,
metabolisms and ****** moods.
Broken condoms; beer pong,
scraped up knees, rip the ****
Scratched wrists;
That kiss was more than just a kiss.
Mirrors, scales,
headaches, high heels.
Anti-depressants, cold sores,
***** toe nails, clogged pores.
Bare feet, torn shirts,
sweat covered forehead, short skirts.
Lace bra on the floor,
don't forget to lock the door
Pimples and Prozac;
************ and match making.
You can always tell when she's faking.
Pierced ears, cheap beers,
blow jobs and rich snobs.
To your last family party and first cigarette;
Raspberry tinted ***** and the first name you try to forget.
Stained underwear, tweezers and straightened hair.
Mascara and flat irons,
But in all honesty
What the **** is a flat iron?
To rice cakes and heartaches
Lice and love and public bathrooms.
Undercover cops,
Plan B and mushrooms.
A bruise so sore,
what's there to live for?
Can't have my love, can't have my *****
what happened to the right to choose?
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
The street was dark and so too were my eyes
I walked down the cobble under darkened skies
I walked down the stone, ankle breakers sets
Gamblers in the alleys watching on, making bets
The buildings stand guard on the night for their lords
keeping them safe, open their mouths; in filth pours
Light poles, with dim candles, give hope for safe journey
Dark alley ways steal eyes, make nervous muscles in our sides
Window light, guardian ports, fly catchers, laundry holes
Shines on the street, waiting for me, with it meet
Footsteps creep around edges avoiding sight
But it’s easy to see, all this going on in the night
Out of law exchangers making changes in pocket stuff
50 for the things, that make pigs squeal, illegal deal
Children's eyes are shut, in bed, not here with us
Tucked in warm and tight, not here with the people of the night
Street sweepers weep, we drink, bottles broken at our feet
Bar tab one too many, stumble, mumble, home on the street
Pickpockets delight, puts up no fight, pockets empty when drunk
Bourgeoisie snobs make prison demands! Lock them away tight!
The street, is ***** I know, I do
But this is o.k, with wary watch
For indeed
In the absence of the light
Come the People of the night
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
I have a store full
of old things, it is difficult
to ensure
that they are not sold
to snobs with no idea
of their real value
without the slightest idea
that it cannot be expressed
in their money
only in tax money, annually
to be collected for maintenance
and everything that comes with it
to have the works viewed
by those who are interested
and that can be anyone
which is hard to accept
for barbarians who get rich
from constant replacement
Sep 17, 2022
Sep 17, 2022 at 3:39 AM UTC
I hear your words through the confusion of the bubblegum jungle
Exploding and annoying syllables layered helplessly on the walls of graffiti infused concrete trees
The Rush St. preachers wailing sounds
of the end of world
"The apocalypse is coming, GOD be with y..."
Abruptly interrupted by another city ant walking by..
"Go to hell, you mother ******
The preacher whispers to himself
"May God have mercy on his soul, Amen"
White City elites with turned up noses
on their Michigan Ave stroll
"Snobs" central passing by the homeless
as they whisper for change
sitting next to their leaky cardboard mansions
******** clad ladies of night
selling their *** to married men,
to whom are seeking to expel their worries
between the legs of the fallen
"Take that harder, harder"
Echoes of moans from the alley way
Cash for a minute of pleasure and gone
This bubblegum jungle will chew you up and spit you out
It doesn't seek retribution
It's only seeks hunger
Feeding off the weak and nimble
Leaving your bones on the bent and deserted sidewalks of the White City
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC
The trolls don't like the orcs
the orcs don't like the elves
the elves don't like the goblins
the goblins, don't like themselves
Fairies can be such snobs
on this, each and all agree
whether alone, or in mobs
each, proud of pedigree
The singular exception
and it makes sense to me
a need of complete contraception
eradicating, the goblin family tree
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
I sit and feel... Different.
Some would have inspiration, some would have peace,
And some would be able to think about anything with
That clanking of cups and the whirr of a coffee machine.
But I can't describe how strange I feel sitting here.
Maybe the people sitting here aren't supposed to be.
The snobs giggling and gossiping in the corner,
The waft of marijuana coming in from just outside of the door.
This isn't a normal place. And I
Am not a stereotypical poet.
I write paintings in my mind and draw poems with my lips.
And, right now, they aren't encasing the rim of a coffee mug.
I don't have the money.
And I don't have the rhyme scheme to
Make fun of those who don't get it.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
this is the dwelling where wind is a bell and a beacon for death.
where youthful pursuit is punctured by family names or famine of fortune.
boys in bands buoyed by Onos and shared women.
lawyer fathers and social ***** mothers whose children are forbidden to **** up.
one street reserved and smothered by talking townsmen
whose belligerent brides keep tabs on their fellow middle-aged malicious
minded low-lifes
engorged in gossip are the parading fat men who rise early to feed off ones business capital tragedies
****** shortcomings of the stuck and single prey off tweens tweeting of body glitter and b-cups.
clique chick coquettes play house with their shiny image seeking male counterparts
who sing songs of their leather faced lady friends with plastic claws they now admit they would never marry
antagonizing cute couples secretly copulating with former loves' lust
only to mingle with conspirators molding to dominant thought
once a waitress always a waitress
with overdrawn bragging rights and unemployment checks
serving snobs like themselves who sip savignon
self-righteous polo popping perverts accompanying their prized play things
who join the charles river emigrants and stale french pastries
scouting the waste colored palace of prejudice.
now blades of winter draw months of blue blood
bringing forth frozen thoughts slowly dripping onto thawing skin.
another warm summer sun forthcoming
foreshadowed by this wind-chafing forlornness.
though i will fall in love again
and bridge rats will always be kings.
Apr 21, 2011
Apr 21, 2011 at 3:33 PM UTC
Art follower who barks from Cleveland
Hollow be thy fame
Your kingdom ***
Your makeup runs
On queue as it was in high school
Forgive me my jest
As I forgive those who protest against me
Lead me not into a confrontation
For I am truly evil
And mine is the kingdom
The power and the glory
Forever and ever
Aye men?
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
A political party.
A chimps tea party.
Balloons and streamers.
Fantasy dreamers.
Stitched up firmly with red tape.
While as the lowly dregs, they ****
Muppets and puppets, with tangled up strings.
Talk full on ******** 'bout all sorts of things.
Which ones are the worst?
A political conundrum.
A chamber of Lords, full of bent swords.
Fanfare for the common man?
You'd like to think you flaming can.
Just a bunch of knobs and snobs!
(c) Livvi
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
Time heals everything
Hate turns to love
To realize you had something
Time turns a gun to a dove
I'm sorry's are pushed away
Even though you want it more than anything on earth
Apologies are full of grey
I'm sorry's no longer have any worth
I was compared to a simple, deadly car crash
Was told life could be a ride
Until I caused that bash
I was compared with a metaphor with very little pride
I took those five jobs
Chose work over love
I mimicked those snobs
I took that money thinking I was above
What I thought I had is gone
But there is always hope
Love is not something to pawn
What I thought I had had now left me to mope
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
When you have nowhere to go
Trials are fast, blessings slow
And the toilet overflows
Count it ALL JOY!
When winter Paints the Roses blue
When your boyfriend finds someone new
And all your friends turn on you
Count it ALL JOY!
When you are truly at a loss
Not even one coin to toss
Had a fight with your *new boss!
Count it ALL JOY!*
Maybe you don't have a job
You're on the street you just been robbed
People actin' like they're snobs
You cry for help, their heads just bob
You really have the trials of Job
Count it ALL JOY!
Maybe you're sick, and filled with pain
And you're sitting in the rain
Your energy is on the wane
The fiddle plays a sad refrain
Count it ALL JOY!
When you feel you're near the end
And you're going 'round the bend
Cannot find a single friend...
COUNT IT ALL JOY!
SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/21/2016
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 5:50 AM UTC