"stadium" poems
“only” the lonely know (my special sign)
{=}
an incurable silence
the meaningless, wasted touch of a hand,
attached, directed by them from them
to them
a failed reassurance
a classroom, a stadium, cornfield or grove,
so many nutted fallen solitaries fallen to rot
midst a globe of trillions never noticed,
never missed
the silly conceptual that the lonely,
special unique, blessed with a curse,
a specialist status, “only” they afflicted;
with a ken that isolates and yet feels elevated -
oh! I am special
show me one, just one, human who doesn’t truly believe,
they are the onliest loneliest and you will vision
each and every
lonely person who
secret sighs and whose first thoughts are only:
god spare me one more day of being,
fearful of achieving
my very own knowing,
in the invisible place,
the incurable silence award,
reward of another purple heart,
“only” the lonely service ribbon,
my Cain marker
~my special sign~
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
Four years spent here
Four summers at band camp
Memories to last a lifetime
Long hot practices
Hearing ‘Love ya mean it’ daily
Supporting the football team all season
Friday nights at Wildcat Stadium
Sometimes followed by competition the next day
Late nights and early mornings become routine
Long bus rides to competitions
Coming home on a win
Loud roll calls in your ear
But still loving it
Last band camp, last premier show, last football game, last marching practice, last competition, last band bus ride, last competition
Last festival, last concert practice, last concert, last band banquet
Not ready to leave
Never thought you would make it this far
Never thought graduation would be around the corner
Never thought about leaving the band room for the last time as a student
Never thought about last field show or game/competition
Would ever come up
Seniors to be dearly missed
Can’t believe this time is here
To say goodbye
To graduate and move on
Don’t want to leave high school band
Don’t want to leave a family of supporters
But know we will always be here for you
Love ya Seniors
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
inspired by
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5120189/love-cannot-be-controlled-or-confined/
<>
Love is Meant……
and there, I stop…
<>
nnnnyup; continuing on,
this phrase
a self~sufficiency, is it not?
no conditional clause, dangling particle,
no conjunction peg upon to hang your wintered hat,
no adjacent adjective for summer's ending sadness,
no preposition to lead us to sunny places, where we search more
for nouns and pronouns, or to project/protect, in adjectives to clothe our irrationality in logic-e,
logic to define, logic to confine,
illogically
love permits one to say to another human, you mine, hu-mine,
[an aside: "you mine,' (really?)]
a preposterous prepositional insanity notion, that needs no explication,
love is meant, love is meant, love is mean, dream & yet, meant!
stadium sized. concert hall big, mini pup tent,
love is clean+dirty s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
don't you see the self~sufficiency in that?
yet you still seek definition, reasoning, seasoning,
love is meant to-be bent irregular straightaway,
love is meant, to be/not, cold 'n bot, silly hot,
lover is inert, hurt, ert,(1)
love is every point of,
of a sword's length
hilt & blade,
yet ironic,
the tip alone
is a self sufficient *****
to be full~on damaging enough to ****
to fully comprehend,
that love is meant
needs no further modifying defying
pointless phrasal modification of explanation…
s u n d a y
(if the week did not commence with a sunday,
hu-mans would have needed to create one,
to understand,
love is meant)
4:39am
Sun Aug 10
Twenty Twenty Fidelio (5)
in a new york city frame of mine
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 8:06 AM UTC
Derartu, Haile, Tirunesh
Kenenisa, Meseret, and all
With a similar footfall!
Displaying a superb
Long-distance athletic feat
When many superstars
Awe inspiringly you beat
And as a result of it
When your sought-for
Fought-for
And nation- prayed-for
Dream proves a hit
And also with kudos
A stadium full of people opt
You to greet
And when spectators
Accord you a high five
It is for your country's flag
You immediately dive!
Also on the podium
while Ethiopia's row-wise
Green,Yellow and Red
Emblazoned flag,
Shoulder high,
Soars above
You express
Your umbilical cord-tight
National love
With tears that
Trickle down each of
Your cheek,quick.
Is it because
Reminiscent of
Each living hero
With a life sacrifice
That brought colonial
Aggression to zero?
Is it because
The bounty of the land
You grew up
Seeing first hand?
Is it because
The cherished corner
You cut in the heart of
The poor but prideful
Ethiopian neighbour?
Is it because
The unity in diversity
That showcases
Ethiopia's identity
Or citizens hospitality?
Is it because
At heart strings a tug
Or ,among others
Gratefulness to
Your iron-strong lung
When you hear
Ethiopian anthem sung?
Is it because a secret another
Deep down you harbour?
Is it because the Fertility
Hope and Sovereignty ideals
The flag advance,
Also Ethiopia's being
A beacon of independence
What is more
The nation's renaissance
Which in a curtain of mist
Before your eyes dance?
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
A stadium filled with thousands of bodies
all pressed together
knowingly aware
but not caring about the abundance of sweat coating their bodies, which isn't their's
or the amount of limbs pressed against them, which isn't their's.
A stadium filled with thousands of people
chanting
screaming
the words which fuel them
give them life
and a purpose to keep going .
A stadium filled with thousands of people
all wearing the same shirt
which represents their love
for simple humans
just like them
which give their life
purpose.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
I opened a football stadium called life
And put goals on both sides
Take the draft and be ready for the ride
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
“where time is the fly and age the fisher of men”
<>
*”until I fell forward
into fall where time is
the fly and age the fisher
of men, then when winter
begins all will be forgotten,
where time is the fly and
age the fisher of men”*
excerpt from “The Fall” by Rick Richardson
<>
that words from a different ionic state, jump as embodied ions from screen to the throat, evicting a guttural current of exclamation, you believe even with the half-heartedly palpitations from remainder of my damaged pumping heart, that these words were always intended, just for me…
boy and old man coexist, the pottage of memories stirred,
and the time is fly, and I drown in the miracle of greenest grass of
Yankee Stadium at age eight,
oasis, heaven, a child reborn in a sea of Bronx concrete,
and the swallowing up of my boyhood is forever marked henceforth, the hook has caught me, and I am of the age
once and forever
not a fisherman, but a fisher of men’s souls,
mine own is my best bait,
hooked line and sinker, and
wisdom and words
elude and delude always,
like summer is perpetual and aging a construct,
time does not fly, but slowly laps and waves
eroding our myths and ourselves upon a continuum with
no ends
~postscript~
<>
*yet I believe,
in miracles of
fish and loaves,
and that our individual continuums
will exist beyond the artifice of constraints
of
mortal time and that poems are
the forever chemicals within
our
bloodstreams,
even when our blood no longer spills*
yet I believe!
Sep 6, 2023
Sep 6, 2023 at 7:57 AM UTC
There is a silence in the house
An empty voice
There is a lack of something
And I cannot find it
I wake up early
And get out of bed late.
I do little chores but
I never get anything done
I drive to coffee shops
And cafes
I search for places that have people
But still I am alone
And so I come home
There is a vacancy here
That I cannot explain
There is a void that grows
And every day it feels larger
And the silence gets louder
As if the space in which there is no one
Gets bigger day by day
The echo of it lengthens
And the sound of footfalls
And the creak of old wood stretches outwards
And at the end of it all
It feels like a stadium filled with no one
An arena of empty chairs
And all the howling, cheering life
That isn't there
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
Don't you know
My mop and glow
Is brighter than
A star over Mazatlán?
I'd be more than spittin'
While you're just there sittin'
This ain't just a game
Though it be the same
When they say don't hate
The player when you're just at the gate,
I fill all the stadium seats
And provide all the player's cleats,
Yeah, you get my drift
Like after hockey left to sift
For teeth and glory
Only half the story,
Through blood and ice
I don't just play and act nice,
I am red riding hood's wolf
Watch out or you'll get a hoof
On your forehead wear it proud
The only crown you'll wear in the crowd...
APAD13 015 - © okpoet
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
Distance brings proportion. From here
the populated tiers
as much as players seem part of the show:
a constructed stage beast, three folds of Dante's rose,
or a Chinese military hat
cunningly chased with bodies.
"Falling from his chariot, a drunk man is unhurt
because his soul is intact. Not knowing his fall,
he is unastonished, he is invulnerable."
So, too, the "pure man"-"pure"
in the sense of undisturbed water.
"It is not necessary to seek out
a wasteland, swamp, or thicket."
The opposing pitcher's pertinent hesitations,
the sky, this meadow, Mantle's thick baked neck,
the old men who in the changing rosters see
a personal mutability,
green slats, wet stone are all to me
as when an emperor commands
a performance with a gesture of his eyes.
"No king on his throne has the joy of the dead,"
the skull told Chuang-tzu.
The thought of death is peppermint to you
when games begin with patriotic song
and a democratic sun beats broadly down.
The Inner Journey seems unjudgeably long
when small boys purchase cups of ice
and, distant as a paradise,
experts, passionate and deft,
hold motionless while Berra flies to left.
4.6k
What do you need right now, Nita?
Shelter from the storm...that’s what I would like right now, that’s what I need right now, dear therapist. Shelter from the storm.
I don’t doubt my determination to survive and yet here I am crying again. Crying and wishing for some GD shelter from the storm…the therapist does not question my commitment or desire to continue to work through this and someday come out on the other side. At least I don’t think he does.
I can’t find my safe place now…it was such a fragile structure to begin with, made of straw and easily blown away in a storm. But it did exist two years ago. It did. And for the first time in my life I felt understood, safe, ‘real’. My safe place was a place I could be angry and sad, and hopeless. A place I could ask for guidance in the midst of confusion; a place of encouragement and comfort. A place where I could find shelter from the storm.
But I can’t find it now! I feel like I am on the edge of tumbling into oblivion due to my own intransigence and inability to let the therapist back in.(or anybody) And I desperately need him tonight…shelter from the rain, stability in the wind, comfort in the thunder and lightning that is threatening me now.
And what is maddening to me is if the therapist walked up to me right now, with a stadium sized umbrella and said, “Nita, come in and I will give you shelter from the storm.” I still stand in the rain, wind and thunderstorm and decline his umbrella because of my fear he would just wrench it away before the storm was over.
So, here I sit, like a frightened child, on my own little island, surrounded by the storm, crying my eyes out over loss and betrayal…on an endless search for shelter from the storm.
Here I sit arguing with myself!
*"Nita, you can't do it alone. He wants to help you - take the **** umbrella!"
"No! I won't take it! I don't need his **** umbrella!"
"Fine! You stupid baby! Suffer by yourself then ~ stubborn little *****
"I said take the umbrella!"*
Messed up? That does not even begin to cover it.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
Time passes by like a whistle in the wind. Ignored and only observed within the thickness of one's skin. The once gnawing temptation in Lula's eyes were now exchanged in kaput like a dead black swan in the lake.
It grew on her and she can only justify it by moving her legs back in forth and forward with her ballet shoes; she can only obtain her physical through the applause of everyone around her. Yet, there were trickles of blood forming inside her internal wound — as the piano strikes another note in A minor, she can only whisk in pain and undone drafts in her head. "Tis will be over", she raises her head upon the crowds heaping in excitement, she turned around and flew her wings upright and the heads of the audience once more clapped in vain and delirium nonsensical pleasure.
As Chopin's symphony were almost in the last note, she stood straight and made her way to the middle. There, she locked eyes with her forbidden lover and a small smile throughout. The intensity of another Vivaldi's winter classic can be grasp once more and another set up of white swans gathered together — formed a circle and she went in the middle. Her eyes turned black and her wings bleed another tint of jet black and crimson. The crowds awed in reverence and she soared above them. A starlet in the headless crowds and dreary sweet rustle of voices gave her another bliss.
And while she was served aloft, there were another macabre symphony that plays through the soft rough piano; it was a solemn prayer and they were the kind souls going up to the heavens.
"Go on, Salem. Play the winter magic," Salem could only look at his muse and he strike another note, passing notes two steps from their 'haven'.
Lula slowly ripped her wings for the last time and smiled to all the headless men. Her satin dress reveals her plumpy chest and an hourglass body. Lula is a goddess black swan. Men could only forward their eyes and threw her pennies once more and she could only move in her balletic conventional pose. For the last time, she flew with her black tinted wings and they were all beheaded.
The white swans began to sing in a solemn outcry until it became too remorseful. The white swans turned their heads down when they met Lula's dead eyes. Her laugh echoing the whole stadium with its own persona and it is like crawling down into waltz where it reaches their earshot. They can only sing in albeit and expensive heads started to explode.
"Two steps from hell," she sings.
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
She laughs as I tell her how
The way she devours her stadium dog
Is so *******
I can’t concentrate
Only we are interrupted by
The crack of gunshot over an open plain
It is followed by a hoorah hurricane
So unison I stop trying to make her laugh
Think about the car ride later
And being stuck in traffic
And sliding gently into home
I want to tell her about years from now
Ninth inning deathbed passion
When my red seems finally begin to burst their cotton
About the splinters living inside of my hands
I was living with them inside of my hands
That’s why I was so rough sometimes
How the scotch guard kept the **** off of my knees
I loved to trace the outline of her ***** diamond
Until there were grooves in there
And my initials in her catchers mound
We are so much hoarse voices
Lost in the noise of ***** hands clapping
How I imagine
As I am sliding into home
In our shower
The soft patter of water on the curtain is stadium applause
Let me run grooves in your shapely pattern
Your laughter is a full circle homerun from heartache
Save me again sweet music
Open plain gunshot buildup
And then a noise so booming it is silence
And us
Ninth inning deathbed lovers
Gently sliding into home
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
14 December 2014
Stadium Hoki
Alhamdulillah, I am so blessed and thankful for the opportunity that I do for myself to watch meteor shower last night. Why did I mention that? Because last night I have been so excited to watch meteor shower and we have been listening, singing, humming, laughing, and watching to the bits where we are so fascinated by the skylight of stars and meteor shower yesterday. It was a lucky day and I feel so heart-warming and my heart beat fast when I saw the meteor fall from the sky. It was really an amazing night ever.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
Handicap suburban hippies
Cruising like hyenas
Trampoline ******
****** tissues in ashtrays
Natural born riders
Liquid courage makes little peanuts
Alien Nation
Infomercials on mute
Strange thugs and dark markets
Needles and pixie sticks
Under the manmade weather
New types of bullet holes
Slaying the jabberwocky in
The new Transylvania
The Yes monster
Cranium stadium
Swords and roses
Barren space
Insolent minx
Holidays gone bad
Continental drift
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
all of
America’s
gubmint hatin
yahoos, pining
to get their
country back,
should grab
yer rifles, stock
up on ammo
and giddy up
down to Texas
to join the
secessionists
headin out
of the Union
Rick Perry
promises to
keep his promise
to close all the
gubmint departments
he can't remember
the names of
Ron Paul will
finally be liberated
from the tyranny
of his federal
paycheck and
can return to
his district to
practice medicine
unencumbered
by the acceptance
of medicare
payments
Ted Cruz will
move to coronate
his Cuban born
daddy as Viceroy
for life of the
western hemispheres
newest banana
republic
the last act of
of the Compartment
of Education will be
to turn every
public school
into a Holy Ghostin
Jehovah meetin
house
Judicial magistrates
will criminalize
poor people
or just make
them slaves
and all prisons
will be turned
into profit driven
plantations,
overseen by
the local
Sheriffs who
will be paid
time and a
half and 15%
of all profits
unfortunately
the Cowboy’s
will lose it’s
moniker as
America’s Team
if rattlesnake
booted
Jerry Jones
can’t make a
deal to turn
his stadium
into a sovereign
independent
territory as a
protectorate
of the USA
To assure
national purity
Texans will
build a Jericho
style wall to
define the boundaries
of their heavenly
kingdom and outlaw
all trumpet playing
within earshot
of their perturbed
borders
The Eyes of
Texas as the
state anthem
will need to
be reworded
The final stanza
will be changed
to "Until Gabriel
blows his nose"
keepin the ungodly
out and the chosen
people safely
insulated within
the shining
Lone Star State
will rise again
as a solitary
confederacy
of dunces
Music Selection:
The Eyes of Texas
Oakland
11/18/13
jbm
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Eat from the ground, all the different colours of the food,
autumn comes, pain for the leaves, death dyes the life,
Earth gives, slippery sometimes, stuntman fall on the floor for a film
nutrition beneath our feet, kaleidoscope of tastes and sensations, good,
trees that grow and give life splinter skin,
carnival of motions reaching from the ground in an infinite cascade,
hope for the future,
baseball players in a stadium, the crowds and players all wrapped around the same pleasures for a little while,
for some it's sugar,
and others ******
Fluffy colours fades,
samba, world feeling;
Cake at a party finger dipping from bowl to bowl of party foods refined from all recognition from the ground first manufactured by nature,
glass spilt over and sticky hair,
slither of glass on the table, children spin around on the grass,
blood, a nail from a plank of wood left on the grass, pain like the bite of a snake,
activity carries on despite the tears, dance, sponge deprived of it's fondant,
the sun is going, the ground remains warm a while.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
We met in the key of Bb
In that small room
With all the others
It wasn't the first time I saw you though
It wasn't the first time I held you
But it was the first time
I saw you
And held you
And knew you were now mine.
We got to know eachother in the key of Bb
At first our ride was a little bumpy
I was inexperienced,
I didn't like you much at first.
But you were patient
You had been through this before
Time and time again.
Others had had you
But now I have you
And that's all that matters
I made friends in the key of Bb
Because of you, I met good people
Loving people
Friendly people
People I can trust
Which are hard to find.
You introduced me to them.
Every.
Single.
One.
These are people I'll know
For the rest of my life
I started a new chapter of my life in the key of Bb
New places, new faces
You helped me fit in
I felt uncomfortable
But you made me right at home
You made my home my home
That other small room
Much like the one I mentioned earlier
Is now my place of peace
Where I feel most calm
Where I can be myself
I found passion in the key of Bb
On that field
Under those stadium lights
That's where I found myself most.
You made me do unnatural things
Things most people
Wouldn't want to do
And you made me do it
Because of my love for you
A love I hadn't truly defined yet
But that came
After the first show
I started to truly believe
In the magic of you
I had my doubts,
But all of those are gone
I realized what I wanted to be in the key of Bb
This was when I fully found my love for you.
This was in my third year of being with you
I truly believed by then
In this magic that has engulfed me
You have given me an opportunity
To do something I've never done.
To travel the world
To perform for hundreds, thousands
To live.
I found love in the key of Bb
You introduced me to him
He's amazing
And he loves you, too.
He has a passion for you as well
And he found me
In the key of Bb
And sometimes
You're a little hard on me
You made me hurt
In ways I never hurt before
But you made me feel joys
That I had never felt before
You gave me friends
You gave me love
You gave me a passion
You gave me a family
What could I do without you?
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
Admitted to taking the reduced ruling
Fourteen souls accepted what this is after
All
Of this...
Immediately unavailable to face Sunday's showdown at
The Stadium.
The Titan gave assurances to the souls today.
It will not take any further action
-Despite the deal-
But their identity is still unknown
Some suggesting only retired evidence.
Hand in hand with sickness,
The hound (who is widely regarded)
Appears to prove why force
In recent years
Did indeed highly fancy tomorrow's feature;
"The Winner".
The hound first knew his fledgling
When he could finally be on the road
While his empire expanded
"I used to hope for the best"
Titan tells us.
"I used to have a while and
I used to get sick.
Now I just have to find a way
To use up that time.
I speak only to the Landlord
And his tenants.
I only blame myself for the sickness.
All I know is where I've come from
...At least, I think so...
...I hope so."
"It's a funny thing!"- Hound.
*Pressure keeps you honest.
Wet, heavy conditions expected tomorrow.
So, with everything said,
I wish you peace and love.
Love is waiting.*
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
I sought satisfaction in stupid sheepishly and shallow strides.
Scared subconsciously, I swallow and sustain substance for pseudo self esteem strengthening.
I seemed of in service to slumber and stinging sadness, shots sank like ships, submerging into the sea of my swarthy stomach in seconds.
I somewhat sympathies as a sailor, sweating, struggling and swimming in slipping sobriety saturated in my sulking style.
Scanning swarms of serial swindlers, striking sculptures stances of self-doubt.
I stammer in a storm of slurs, ******* down my safety, stopping myself at the stoop of the saloon I see a seductive silhouette staging the space.
She stroke my sight, standing sanguine in scarlet, soul sold in high heels.
The smoothest sculptures in seven square miles were subjugated into scree and I was ****** in submission.
Stubborn staggering suitors, stand shaking silently as she is stopped by sharks stalking and snarling sycophantics.
So straightforward in suggesting their secret starvation to strip sensations, seem by seem, like a sub-par **** cinema scene.
They step and speak short.
She smokes off, stranding the scree in smoldering slaughter.
Its sad this soul-less sanctuary soaking up sorrows.
So self inflicting, and so satisfyingly side splitting.
She sported her spurned, scorned off into sadistic solitude and stained sticky stigma, sobbing to sleep.
So spent from simple stocked, stored and supported senescence of ceremonial subjection of ****** status.
I savior my sincerity, and stretched out of this strange stadium of stooges.
So long scarlet sanguine I sang softly, as she stole my sight suspiciously in sync with hers.
Sacrificial seconds split from smearing stolidity to sharing a smile.
That's simple satisfaction, so I seen scripted in sitcoms and shows.
Supporting sapiens in stasis to see sappy stunners on screen, to stare snoopy, as stabs and slashes strike socially into socialites of so called sanity and sovereignty.
To sweetly pay salvage as slaves of soppy studio slander.
Such is this sorry Saturday night, I am solidified in sedation.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
The South African sun caused my
Eleven year old eyes to squint.
Sat in the stadium, my father and I,
Sweated and watched rugby;
A father - daughter tradition.
That Saturday afternoon was the final,
The stands were crowded and full,
Like a fish-tank ready to burst
At any moment.
In front of my father and I,
There sat a dark-haired woman
In a lose fitting jersey.
About forty minutes in,
She bent down, sudden and quick,
Her head, hitting her kneecaps,
She screamed her intense screams;
Muffled in her own bent body,
Some spectators thought her crazy,
She continued her whails, and soon
A small crowd grew in front of us,
One man pulled her straight in her seat,
Her hands, her face, her her legs and stomach
Were all drenched red with blood.
No one ever heard the gunshot;
They traced it back to its origin,
Two hundred meters away,
Fired from a building by the stadium.
The bullet just happened to land where it did,
And the game went on.
- Jamie F. Nugent
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
Spot, that lucky dog, is dead.
He did not live to see
what became of **** and Jane.
Let me relate their history.
**** and Jane now were in their teens
Vietnam was our national hell.
Jane mourned her fellows at Kent State.
Dick's squad stormed Hue's Citadel.
**** came back from Vietnam
a changed and distant man.
In sleep he'd mutter, toss and turn,
crying out like one who's dammed.
Jane became a feminist and
in protest burned her brassiere.
**** in monosylables
proclaimed he loved Jane dear
Soon Jane was having fun with ****
in the back seat of his car.
A different sort of fun, I think
than they ever had before.
They both tried marijuana
and both of them inhaled
They were discreet, unlike their friends
and avoided time in jail.
They lived together for a while
Eventually they married.
The product of their union was
two boys named Tom and Harry.
**** got work at Chysler
standing right beside his Dad.
He figured he was set for life.
He became a Union man.
Jane became a lawyer
working for A.C.L.U.
**** and Jane would often argue
about the causes she pursued.
By now the boys were growing up
and spending time with Dad
Out at Tiger Stadium
they had seats in the grandstand.
It seemed everything was perfect.
Of course everything was not.
**** and Jane fought frequently.
Her career was getting hot.
She no longer had much fun with ****
the passion had grown cold.
Cialis was not invented yet
and **** grew fat and bald.
Jane began to question why
she ever chose to marry.
Jane stopped having fun with ****
Jane now has fun with Sally.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 6:02 PM UTC