"trumps" poems
He pulled and parked the supply red wagon,
then climbed the mast to the captain's cabin.
Captain Red is ready for adventure.
A quest to collect the world's best treasure.
His pirate crew is renowned far and wide.
They're rough and tough and they don't ever cry.
But none of them boys has the captain's stuff.
So don't mess with him, man, cause he don't bluff.
This motley crew has achieved many feats,
has never suffered a single defeat,
and has seen the most incredible things:
whales, whirlpools, storms, mermaids, krakens and kings.
"Set sail," squaws the boss as he munches lunch
and the Ocean Destroyer leaves port Wunche.
These rolling green hills are now ocean waves.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
...
"Hey Benjamin!" beams the first mate Susanne.
Impeding the journey that just began.
"We already played this game. It's my turn!"
The first mate trumps the captain, Ben will learn.
...
Her spacesuit crew is renowned far and wide.
They're smart and nice and they don't ever lie.
But none of these girls has commander's stuff.
So don't mess with her, girl, cause she don't bluff.
This brainy crew has achieved many feats,
has never suffered a single defeat,
and has seen the most incredible things:
aliens, black holes, stars, and martian springs.
"Lift off!" beams the boss as she munches lunch
and the Star Chasing Rocket leaves base Wunche.
These rural backyards are now rocky space.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
...
"Hey Susanne!" beams the pilot Benjamin.
Impeding the flight before it begins.
"We already played this game. It's my turn!"
The pilot trumps commander, Sue will learn.
...
Boys and girls grow up and out the front door.
Those children’s games evolve to adult chores;
those kiddy lawns to grandparent’s domain.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
Donald Trump what a Chump
The name makes my blood Boil
His views remind me of
Those poor Jews when ******
Caused such Immortal coil
Trump claims to be against
Extremism yet it
Leaks through his core all the
Way to his Brittle bones
Brainwashing vulnerable;
Led to his Blood stained Throne
No blood shed yet; He speaks
Hell don't be so naive
Trump contemplated by
So many minds in this
Day and age shouldn't be
Building walls make them tall
Then what Is this the way?
Segregation, Racism
Shuts his eyes, Cover's ears
He'll not hear what we say
It's Devastating such
Man claims chance to taint our
Minds with his Bitter taste
A Catastrophe,
Shows no Diplomacy
With 'Morals' formed into
Very Strange Scary shapes
Yes, I agree Something
Needs to change but Believe
Me 'Trump' is not that Thing
Sheds empty promises
Causing controversy
With 'Peace' as the end goal
Trumps No way to begin
His Immaturity
Is so apparent that
He will ruin the world
As we know it today
I think Trump needs some help
Some Mental help to drive
All those Devils living
Within him Far away!
© Karen L Hamilton, January 2016
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
I do not have a gay agenda
That consists of me stealing your faith
Crushing your god
And molesting you with my eyes
If you pass me in a crowded hall.
I do not have a gay agenda
That consists of me taking the minds
Of innocent children
And leading then into devil worship.
I do have a gay agenda
That consists of me (a girl)
Finding the perfect girl
To call my wife
And start a family with.
I do have a gay agenda
That consists of me letting love be fluid
Labels have no meaning
Or bounds
And letting religion roam free.
So with my simple gay agenda of love
Why are you so worried?
Are you afraid that my agenda will beat out yours?
After all love trumps all hate
In the end
One way or another.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
The tide collects it all by morning;
The drama and the ***** napalmed across the path.
The scenes at second warning for most had been swept away
Before they wiped the sand from their shoes.
Empty cans of Dutch and Tuborg slouched on the dunes
Are tight-lipped about the Velvet Strand's secret ecosystem;
An underground microcosm;
A peripheral cluster of seething emotions drowned.
Memories of those years - although some expired,
The vestiges take pride of place - hold a cosmic clump of smells,
Tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends.
I never before understood what I was holding on to.
Winters down in the shelters nearly killed us but we
Huddled through the cold, lit cheap firelogs and
Found our oblivion. It didn't take much for me to develop
A stagger - tolerance for a lot of things was learned later.
I narrowly recall my first taste of poor judgement and
Hazy-headed stargazing. Six cans of Stonehouse
Dry cider - most of which ended up on the hillside -
Was a ridiculous endeavour that will always be sublime.
At the heart of it, I did it to impress a girl;
The one every boy has or has had that sticks;
Who holds your firsts and your hands and makes
Things simple if only for her complexity;
The one that never fails to bring upon digression when
Pens are involved. Revisiting reminiscence on a jarring note,
I think of my Junior Cert exams and a cross-dressed man
Exposing himself to two uniformed boys behind the public toilets.
This one doesn't stir the joy of the others.
This one I wish would dissolve;
An ugly, awkward blotch on a childhood.
Luckily fondness trumps disgust when recalling that place
Because of sunrises and sunsets absorbed from the roof.
The Summers spent jumping the gap and drowning in the
Heat of the sun were everything.
The fugitive sand between our toes and under finger nails
Became an accepted nuisance, a part of the territory;
A lingering grain or two to drag you back.
I miss waking up with the smell of last night's faded fire.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
"lie still and let it wash over you, the was and is and soon to be.
How frightening yet effervescent the next 24 hours. The lust, and musts of future days revert to the ancient past..."
patty m.
><
the irony!
when I am stilled,
the effervescence of me
unbounded, unleashed, and the torrential rain
of words fulfilling and departing from my interior
I am
a Grand Central Station
of trains labelled
"the was and is and soon to be''
all moving in an unscheduled mayhem,
but never crashing. never accidenting,
only accenting my racing against time,
my oldest and fiercest Super Villian,
and one just knows, never can you beat time,
time, that old rascally up his sleeve card magician,
who when shuffling the deck,
he knows
what was,
what is,
and here his red eyes gleam with satisfaction,
soon to be...
He and I,
old familiar adversaries
addicted to living.
never leave the table,
never leave a *** or
a poem on the felt,
and having always felt,
firm believed,
there will always be one more,
one more gamble, another day,
to write another poem
and turning my cards over
to reveal, to revel,
in my Royal Flush of creativity,
when time, smiling face,
with his
wild card,
**** time,
who trumps me for
it,
in possess of a Five-of-a-Kind(1)
~'
and the new players,
the young poets,
slap me on the back,
saying I had a great run,
but they don't know 'bout my
secret stash,
preprogrammed to appear,
long after these fingers
cease their tangled tango of tap dancing,
my dust,
my lusts and musts
will unstilled yet be
blowing, floating in the
soon to be
so ha!
nml
6:30am
Wed Sep 10
Twenty Twenty Five
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 8:42 AM UTC
In Americans,
nothing
Trumps emotion
like the Rock?
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 8:24 PM UTC
Thrown away carrom men
Hunting for the queen
Grey white turqoise marbles
a spinning top on the table
an electric motor a gadget then
bifid nibbed fountain pen
Cassette wheels and a chip of steel
ran faster than ritzy hotwheels
tazos and trumps spurred triumphant jumps
peacock clay in redolent sandalwood
I collected and carry in the treasure of childhood
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 4:40 AM UTC
Tonight I learned what it means to be mortal. To have a fifteen year dream crushed publicly. To smile and be the man that lies, “it’s ok, God has better plans and I trust that.” Tonight my wings were clipped and I was sentenced to a life of soil and toil, forever forced to watch the eagles in orange soar in the clouds and sky that I know I was created to own. I love this place because it is more of a home than I have ever known. It is pure and navy and orange and majestic. I wanted to serve it and glorify my king and this institution. Alas, no. Not I but the vultures. How is it that carrion dominate? How is it that prestige trumps passion? How is it that title and gold trump heart and integrity? I lost respect for my home. I feel as if a stranger in my own walls. I gave more than sweat and blood and tears yet they were swept under the carpet to rot. Fester and rot. I hope my passion and time as leader was well spent, it was and always was for you, tiger, not me! Always! I sharpened your claws and defended your teeth until they ****** me. Why. This is not how it is supposed to be. I pray this love and three year passion was not for non. Not for me, not for nametags or orange jackets, not for titles or for comfort but for passion and unbridled love of the institution which ****** me have I served. I have yet to work through what I’ve learned through this but tonight I know a chapter has ended and it hurts. It’s not that the chapter ended and a period was placed and the next began, it’s the end of the climactical chapter and the next pages are blank. Existent, yes. But blank. And the white on the page pales in comparison to orange and blue. I hate white and it’s idle uncertainty. I hold the pen but tonight my hand was severed, my limbs they rot, and my heart is numb. I am jello and I am free. And I hate, with every inth of my fibrous being, this freedom. I miss my chains.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 12:28 PM UTC
There’s a lot to be said for this place.
A near-perfect pitch for diversity,
Diversity: a neurolinguistic term;
A quaint way to say: miscegenation.
No, just kidding; I meant the melting ***
A fine blend of Anglo, Hispanic & Indian blood—
That’s Pueblo & Plains Indian blood--
Not that **** masala, chapati & dal Indian blood.
My apologies to "Who's the White Guy?" Bobby Jindal.
New Mexico: “The Land of Enchantment.”
Where 310 sunny days per annum,
Are like money in the bank, earning
Double-plus compound interest for those
Suffering with seasonal affective disorders.
A land of sunshine without the orange juice,
But substitute chili, red or green?
An equitable offset to be sure.
310 days of sunshine:
Even the white people are brown here.
Which does a lot for my self-esteem.
Back east—New York, Chicago & Philadelphia e.g.—
People that look like me, i.e.,
People with dark brown hair, eyes and skin,
Get stopped/ass-cheek spread/& frisked, routinely.
Stop & Frisk: NYPD’s spectator sport for decades.
Stop & Frisk: Mayor Bloomberg-defended
Crime-stopping Godsend,
Getting guns off the streets.
Getting homicides down.
Everything’s cool until some slick race baiter,
Starts yelling: RACIAL PROFILING.
Forget for a moment that people that look like me,
People like me with dark hair, eyes & skin,
Commit 78% of the crime in most cities.
“It’s not racially driven profiling,”
Said Newark’s police director recently
Referring to stops carried out by his officers.
“IT’S CRIME-DRIVEN PROFILING!”
But, again, political-correctness trumps common sense:
August 2013: Judge Rules NYPD
Stop-and-Frisk Unconstitutional.
Well I’ll be a monkey’s *** ******
I moved to New Mexico to blend in.
My complexion a shoe-in for
The Witness Protection Program or
Any other public or private,
Domestic or international rendition site.
But I digress.
New Mexico: no passport necessary, Babaloo!
New Mexico: be you white or black, Hispanic or Indian,
Or even Roswell extraterrestrial,
The cops here will beat the **** out of you.
Or shoot you dead, Kemosabe.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
"Alternative Facts" the truth belies,
Often in "Fake News" the real truth lies,
"Exaggeration", "Aggrandizing"
In truth are other words for lying.
The value of honesty seems lost,
Sad truth is, at a terrible cost!
To our kids now we must emphasise
That Facts; the Truth, must Always Trump Lies,
That by lying there's nothing to gain;
That Truth cannot be held in disdain.
From lies and untruths all must refrain
To make Truth, Honesty, Great Again!
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.
On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.
And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels’ trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose,
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.
Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet, for he’s much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
There will be no other end of the world,
There will be no other end of the world.
4.1k
Enough with the stains.
You're offensive, period.
Born with half a brain.
Logic trumps feelings?
Men are better. Then, women.
Drowning in being.
Can't control themselves,
shopping for trinkets and toys,
crap to fill the shelves.
Desperate for love.
Insecure, pathetic things.
Who do I speak of?
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 6:07 PM UTC
Lennon told me Paul was strawberry
George reminded me love trumps lord
Overboard overcome overwrought
Flower child fishtailed dovelike all aboard
Come together
Get yourself together
Soldered together
Like joint dance banners painted to promote teenage ******* to youth
Tied us into our best days ahead of us
Chained to our ***** we swung like gamers
Untied to our integrity
Wrecking wreaking havoc
Ballooned on hubris
Hemorrhaging ego unlocked spewing spite
I respect good works deeds above good intentions
Road paved with broken glass
Don’t respect me when I’m gone
Tell the folks it’s OK to sing along
Let’s spend the night together
Talk all night in the altogether
Rather gather in clover and heather
Happy Ringo’s nest a featherbed
Laying lady laid cunning linguist
‘xplain to me in chiefly straight talk
Who questions whom?
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
We are told that
Nothing trumps Trump's
Misogyny but truth will out
When his sexist shtick is a
Gift that keeps giving for
His Republican rivals,
Whose
Lips are sealed, but by
Their deeds their hands are unclean.
We know that Bush did not beat about the bush
When he said of women on welfare that “They should
Be able to get their life Together and find a husband"
We know that Walker repealed Wisconsin's only
Equal pay law and supported anti-choice
Invasive intrusion of a woman's right
To choose. We know that Mike H
Has mused that he thinks women
Who cannot control their “Libido"
Should not “curse” and Jay Z is really
A **** seems to be exploiting Beyoncé.
We know that Rubio opposed re-authorizing the
Violence against Women Act, even though he knew
What it meant when he opposed the Paycheck Fairness
Act. We know Rand P was rightly Republican in similarly
Voting against the Paycheck Act, and in his college secret
Society promoted Anita B's views that oral *** was a sin.
Perhaps they all need to look in the mirror and adhere to
The Biblical adage that "He who is without sin should
Cast the first stone" But what is sin anyway?
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Remember Wesley’s Theory. Remember they haven’t taught you everything.
And no one actually gives anything For Free. Don’t take it and expect to give nothing back.
They will beat it out of you. Spit back King Kunta even though you’ll feel nothing like royalty.
Google Institutionalized. The first example reads, The danger of discrimination becoming
Institutionalized.
Maybe they didn’t want to flat out say racism?
And instead pretend like u won’t try to climb over These Walls.
You in Trumps America now boy, everything ain’t just gonna be Alright.
You might wake up tomorrow, sign chained to your ankles, “For Sale”.
Momma never warned you. At least you don’t remember, you haven’t talked lately.
You never understood Hood Politics, found yourself on the wrong block
Too much change in your pocket tryna to figure out How Much a Dollar Cost
But the Complexion of your currency ain’t quite correct cuz
That’s when you realize The Blacker the Berry, the less like you.
You Ain’t Gotta Lie, you like where you are now.
Starting to think i belong and ****
But remember, even though you know how to **** a Butterfly, you’re just a Mortal Man.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 6:06 AM UTC
The Picture Window
The vista view never changes but daily.
The naked eye, registers the same distances,
resting objects unmoved, modest alterations
by wind and water are noted, but for intent,
for purpose, the watercolor one would paint
be invariably unvarying as a Swiss Alp.
The subtle nuanced worldview, where the sky
stretches from ceiling to a foot above ground, as
I lay prone neath the coverlet, vista always subtly differing,
from its prior reincarnation, self-reflection demands to know.
Alive & Awake? Yes.
Breathing steady? Yes.
Toes? Still can wiggly to & fro.
My soul?
Presumably ok, as I write, because I write, the
picture window into to my insight, though oft blurry,
yet intact, making discernible the changes in light,
temperature and heart rate, as the body/soul contraption modulates, just as the gradient of daylight shifts lighter and higher, with a rising sun bringing more clarity to our interactive encounters with our environments..
The picture window internalized, much the same,as
the vista, subtle modest changes, colorations variegated,
are registered. Today is mostly cloudy overcast, and shall remain so for the foreseeable future, which be about two days hence. Not unsurprisingly, methinks, the future tends to be cloudy.
Beyond that peripheral, no one can say, our macular envisioning only gets weaker,time is a tough taskmaster
and uncertainty is it’s own principle.
But I can say, forecast from well under the comforter,
that more than less, where less is more, this picture window,
ex and in, shall remain, unchanged for the remainder of my years that fortune shall provide, and will & would grant me awakenings to the ex-sight and in-sight of a sculpted landscape, of negative entropy, where disorder minimal.
My musings end here, unless you still wish, come the morrow,
what the marrow the day reveals, what the window will spill,
new and exciting, subtly unchanged, and always different.
Caution: The injection of caffeine may dramatically alter
the windows perspective, as the exogenous always trumps the
endogenous.
5:50 AM
P.S. Making coffee clarifies: If the vista in +/- unchanging,
then, all my personal, own horizons are immortal as well.
Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
72 hours in
I'm giving serious thought to
drinking the Listerine.
The ***** is it's citrus flavored.
I can't even rinse with that toxic concoction, let alone swallow it,
but I'm running out of options.
I finished my other MacGyvers--
the Nyquil was first to go,
followed by a Dimetapp chaser
(the cherry,
not a refreshing grape-flavored one)
and a shot of Wal-fed
that induced indigestion.
My kingdom for a belt of whiskey--
maybe a snifter of ***
You know you're bottoming out
when you wax nostalgic
for drunken days
when soiling yourself was justifiable
due to your general state of disarray.
I'm the **** that adheres to the bottom of the barrel—
******* in the shower with my shoes on,
pants removed as a cautionary measure.
Not that life can get worse;
nothing trumps waking up miserable,
sore,
jobless,
alone,
queasy,
woozy and
drooling uncontrollably
and lacking ***** to blame it on.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
wont be long before shes blowing trumps trumpet
***** little cuntservertive strumpet
armageddons coming unelected to the ball
this ******* party is going to drown us all
military fluffers for when the going gets tough
were all going **** diving and its going to be rough
all the ****** in the universe couldnt help me get it up
for our new prime sinister and its new world ******
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
Hatred becomes Love.
War becomes Peace.
Sorrow becomes Joy.
Despair becomes Hope.
Loss becomes Gain.
Death becomes Life.
For He is the One who trumps everything.
And turns it all around.
For His ways are not like the ways of man.
All that is evil.
All that is sorrow.
Is turned around for good.
When I turn to Him.
For He is the One who trumps everything.
And turns it all around.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
we did not Dye in vain!
by michael r. burch
(from “songs of the sea snails”)
though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.
i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!
Originally published by The American Dissident
Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!
Keywords/Tags: royal, purple, imperial, Tyrian, Byzantium, porphyry, swaddling, clothes, porphyrogenitos, mollusks, sea snails, royalty, kings, lords, emperors, popes
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC
Addict.
Fly free unwanted conqueror-
I detest you
And your haunting illusion.
Midnight visage-
Encapsulated in wanton peaks
Of redemption.
You who scorched my fields
And ignited my fears,
Laying waste in a furious
Dervish of extrapolated ecstasy.
It might have been over
But in what I was sure
Was my final moment
Your grip became slack,
my conscious lying sputtering
in the destitute mud
That comprises bewilderment ,
And you showed me mercy-
Such bravery in the face of havoc.
And now you gladly accept me,
Embrace me in cold arms,
Wantonly smiling at the distance-
almost, almost imperceptive
But my knowledge trumps mere sense,
With the certainty of a madman.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
It’s like I’m chasing my dreams; barely moving, in slow motion. Stuck behind my own thoughts; too much commotion. Haters hating; my thoughts, their self-promotion. Got me, forcing my own hand; dealing with all these emotions. Learnt that; Love is pain, mixed together; a strong potion. People buying love; turns out, the people around you; will surround you to crown and ring you- claim to fame, use the same to bring shame to your name too. One wrong move; they check you in; under the deck, and bury your mate too. Blood thicker than water, paper trumps the two. Everything comes with a price; the cost they expect it to be; You. So don’t trust people, whose nature is to consume; it's will be your doom.There’s no telling what they will do. The people that you love the most – have a different point of view; the closer they are; the more they assume; the quicker they are to move. Killing you over nothing; I know – I’m so confused. Eventually, the truth bleeds through; warranted, your heart breaks too; Part two. Set the stakes too high, your right hand guy, will turn on you. Leaving you wide open; your back with an open-view. Those dollar bills, In God we Trust; one hell of a bluff- spending as we lust; because enough is never enough. Life is tough; Friend or foe; their all the same when **** happens; so it’s all good until the going get rough, then being good ain't good enough.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
Imaginary Boy
builds imaginary walls so tall he trumps the Taj Mahal.
He walks corridors to imaginary doors
where he stores his love in hoards of fantasies,
but he figures her
the mystery,
the puzzle to be solved.
Imaginary boy
composes stormy melodies.
He plays them through
imaginary seas,
but in his heart it is the sirens,
with songs diminished, sickly,
who claim his ship for the fiery deep.
While he fills his pockets with stone, he screams,
"I stored my love in hoards on board, and she's taken all I have!"
Imaginary Boy
lives in a dream, but never sleeps.
Quietly, he mumbles, "That woman, she makes me bleed."
but she could never penetrate that deep,
because he cannot see her
through his warped expectations.
Imaginary Boy
doesn't know that love resounds infinitely through our mentality,
and cognitively,
it is our decision to love,
and we decide how to love,
and who to love
Imaginary Boy,
love is a verb, never a noun,
and so very real,
so very profound,
that the loving cannot be real
if the expectations are imaginary.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
You say tomato
I say tomato
Black is white
Up is down
This is an insurrection
By and large
That was a peaceful protest
Masks save lives
Masks promote disease
He died of Covid-19
He died
Promote the common good
My freedom trumps
concern for others
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 2:40 PM UTC
3:15 am
There is something beautiful about being alone,
but being deep inside your mind.
The real world opens up and alive is your soul -
timeless is time.
Your heart pumps emotions thicker than blood.
True reality trumps the surreal.
Nothing but silence and truth exist in those moments.
Dreading disturbance, nothing compares to the bliss -
To the way it feels to be alone.
Losing your mind somewhere deep inside the Universe.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC