"tweak" poems
The engineers they tweak the DNA,
fostering changes to the RNA,
the plants becoming something else,
immunevolution modify man’s health.
And never will they accept the blame,
for their arrogance and dangerous game;
and when the food cannot be eaten?
History recall of the viral cretins.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
This is how it goes
your hands will be proxy for mine
my hands will be proxy for yours
your fingers my fingers
and my fingers yours
what I describe, you enact
told in detail so exact
Just to begin
I squeeze your *******
knead and pinch
tweak a ******
give it a tug
Stroke your tummy
work over your thighs
move up the inner
where skin is smooth
circle around, moving in
till soft contours are caressed
through pants that burn
to be removed
that pain you to wear
and I see in my mind
as you describe
the spreading, darkening patch
that fills the gusset
Now they're pulled down
removed quickly, completely
and you are revealed
spread, opened, shameless
Gentle fingertips tease
dance in circles, barely touching
yet the fire within grows
back and forth, round and round
dance the fingertips
as both reciprocate
with growing pace
and firmer touch
I hear you gasp down the line
and your breathing quickens
as you hear mine
as your excitement fuels mine
as mine fuels yours
in our feedback loop of lust
And I tell you how
my fingertip would give way
to tonguetip if I could
that I can taste you
in my imagination
fragrant, salty sweetness
with musky undertones
the tip of my tongue now circling
then flicking back and forth
beating out the rhythm
that you best harmonise with
bringing forth your moans
Then darting down, back
between wet, glistening folds
exploring each ridge and valley
working remorselessly
Breathing faster now
with animal grunts and moans
directions of pleasure gasped
breathless down the phone
As fingers again
take the lead
find the opening
slip readily within
probe, explore, ****
find that place
on your front wall
yes, just that spot
that's a little rougher
and feels sooo goood
Add a second finger
working and *******
licking and rubbing
moaning and gasping
barely intelligible now
...yess...more...yess...ohhh
are all that have meaning
Finger three joins one and two
then the pressure builds
demanding release
and shaking and thrusting
grows to shuddering
and...yes...yesss...sooo clooose
******* faster furiously
till we both explode
hearing each other's
voicing of our ecstasy
in language intelligible
only in this one context
Brains and voices return
as we bask in the afterglow
and what passes between us then
in those moments
is the deepest intimacy of all
Cynthia Pauline Jones 01/02/2014
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
Anom o ly
Non-named, never imagined much less realized
The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here
We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.
Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?
Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.
Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question, nor is good or bad. ******** Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.
I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.
First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.
From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>
Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice
Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
I'm Feining For A Dose of
Methamphetamine.
I Know I Have successful Sobriety Days.
But My Thoughts Are Overwhelming Me Heavily.
And What Best Knowing iCan Take A Hit And Forget Everything. I'm Feeling So Low,
Drowning My Self in Guilt And Sorrow. Yes I Know Its Effects Arnt Forever lasting .
But My Heads pounding iJust Want To Feel The **** Flow Blast in.
How Long? How Strong?
Will I Give in or Will Reality Kick quick Which Do You Predict?
Scan Through My History,
Sadning Because My Minds Weak And Would Rather Tweak
Than Go Through it how I'm Supposed to.
Wouldn't Be The First time,
More Like it's the only option
I tend to want to see.
Because of what it brings,
An Easy Solution That will have me Loving its fascinating Pollution.
Deep in me I really don't want to abuse this,
But When I Feel So hopeless
My Mind blinds me on purpose
to reach the Dope Switch
And instantly want to turn to the substance
and use to get high to cope with.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
So Yeah
iFucked With Tweak Again.
How Have iBeen Getting On One? Night Time.
When Everyones Asleep,
***** Major.
My Mind Was Just Beginning
To Sort Out.
iJust Stopped The Process.
By Me Tweaking At Night ?
iM ******* With My Head Again
Still Paranoid Worsening iT.
iDidnt Enjoy iT ,
But **** Have iBeen Getting High(: iMissed iTs Feeling, iTs So Pure And Dreamy <3
No Wonder iLove iT, Began Reminiscing Deep About iT ^___^ Remembering Why iT iS iSay DopeLove <3$:.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
Being wiccan is my calling it's my religion.
It is the well i drink from it quenches my souls thirst.
The god and goddess are my rulers i heed their call.
I follow the call of the elements earth, air, fire and water.
Wicca is something i can count on when i have nothing to give.
Wicca is something that gives me a sense of safety and relief.
When i know i have nothing i know i have wicca.
Blessed Be! be the the ancients for they dance with me.
The knowledge of wicca the complex magic is food for my soul.
The deities walk with me i feel their love, their protection.
No fear will tweak my soul no outer force will break my strength.
I will forever seek to learn the wiccan ways and laws,
For being wiccan is in my blood.
Written 5th July 2014 By Kelly O'Hara
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
Supposedly too much television will rot your brain away
BUT... you can 't believe what everyone may say
KERMIT told us it ain't easy being green
TAYLOR SWIFT taught us people can be trouble & really mean
SEBASTIAN the CRAB told us it is better down where it is wetter
CINDERELLA taught us that eventually things will get better
SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS told us over & over he's READY! he's READY!
THE TORTOISE taught us that being quick may not always work
KAYNE WEST taught us people are rude, interrupting, annoying & huge jerks
MR KRABS taught us some people are money hungry & greedy
LINDSAY LOHAN taught us some people are attention needy
DORA THE EXPLORER taught us to live our life as an adventure & go explore
SWIPER taught us to always go for more
SQUIDWARD taught us not everyone has happiness to share
PATRICK STAR taught us that some people's heads are filled with air
PLANKTON taught us that you can never give up on reaching your goal
ALICE's curiosity taught us don't chase white rabbits with pocket watches down their hole
PETER PAN taught us to live carefree & have no worries at all
HORTON taught us that a person is a person no matter how small
THE LORAX taught us to take care of our trees
SNOW WHITE taught us that there maybe more than what the eye sees
TOMMY PICKLES taught us sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do
THE GRINCH taught us that deep down inside, the cruel have hearts too
NEMO'S DAD MARLIN taught us you can't protect people from all & or any danger
BARNEY taught us not to talk to a stranger
TIMONE & PUMBA taught us "HAKUNA MATATA"
LILO & STITCH taught us no one gets left behind or forgotten, that is "OHANA"
SOUTH PARK taught us not to give a **** & some friends can be a huge ****** BAG
JUSTIN BIEBER taught us what isn't "SWAG"
STEWIE taught us that even if you're talking not everyone is listening
NELLY taught us that not everywhere has air conditioning "HOT IN HERRE"
DOROTHY taught us is you want to go home just click your heels three times & repeat "THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME"
SOUTH PARK'S TWEAK taught us that your underwear get stolen by the underwear gnomes
So much we've unknowingly managed to obtain
secretly stored in our brain
celebrities, songs, shows & even cartoons have taught us a lot
& that's what life lessons are all about
little hidden lessons & messages everywhere
& completely unaware you pass it on & share
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
Near in the distance stood an ant on a chair.
Smooth but spiky skin with a flock of golden hair.
The ants name was Brian and his mum was the queen.
She drank lots of ***** in the largest nest ever seen.
Brian bucked the trend and turned to magic on the street.
Slight of hand his favourite or should I say 6 feet?
back to the story,
Brian was on a chair
Just about to remove it and levitate in the air!
The trick of a all tricks He hoped to be a star.
Make lots of money and travel wide and far!
The chair was removed and Brian floated high. No strings attached going upwards to the sky!!
Not a place for ants and this trick he did not tweak for Brian was last seen in a big birds beak.
The rumours quickly spread when attached to a tree twig was Brian's golden wig.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
Climb aboard the Paper Airplane Express
Let’s fly to far away destinations
Where we land is random, it can’t be guessed
We have no preconceived expectations
Wings hand crafted by tiny artisans
Powered by adolescent dreams that ignite
Bright eyed smiles, marking the serene occasion
Of each and every planes inaugural flight
Hop aboard the Paper Airplane Express
No two planes are alike, each is unique
And not every flight is a success
But we can re-launch after a simple tweak
As our pilots aren’t allowed to play with matches
To date none of our planes have caught on fire
Though we have seen quite a few crashes
And apparently that little pyro bobby just made me a liar
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
I won't be the weak one,
Although when I think and speak
I may tweak some I'm just
Searching for reasons
To justify the swell.
I will ride the undertow
Sunken beneath bass lines
And blunt tails
Intending to take it slow.
But I get a little excited sometimes, you know.
So when this undertow undoubtedly
Washes me ashore
I'll be the imaginary statue
Erected in my honor
Proudly saluting every fleeting
Emotion that sailed
Straight through my harbor.
You see,
Harboring hatred is a trait
I forfeited
To make way for the minuscule moments and glimpses
Of human existence penetrating
Layers of jade and years
Of conditioning and I am successfully
Transitioning into persistently
Acknowledging the raindrops
As they hit the pavement and pop.
You see some people feel the rain
While others just get wet,
A wise Rastafarian
Once famously said.
And I think on it all
Far too frequently for a quiet mind
But I've never had one of those
Not even after rolling papers
Intertwine and smoke fills my eyes,
Because I am accustomed
To a constant consciousness
And I'd much rather this
Than nothingness
And thus I sit, contemplating
Consequence
Aspiring to avoid the guilt of
Seasons past,
For I am past the point of
Punishment and pain ghosts and
I have plenty of pangs from all
The echoes
In my brain and in these
Rattled apartment's stains
It's not all in vain
Life grows these varicose
Veins
Colored-in, crawling across the
Window panes
Of the chamber where my soul remained
Through the bridge until the end of
The refrain.
I am in reign.
I rock the crown.
I roll the dice when
I am down
I try to think twice
Before I frown
I contemplate the value
Of the men that I allow
To lay me down
Now,
I am grown and I am proud
Because I am humble
And I'm not loud
Any longer,
I listen
To the subtle sounds of
Human respiration.
I am the incarnation
Of ancient incantations that
Shake down the walls which
Separate us all
All the way to the ground.
True power is found
Where unity resounds.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Where are our clowns
With baggy waist-coats
Filled with promises;
Clowns wearing
Borrowed crowns.
One plucks a rose
In his white garden,
To pin on his lapel;
He's a squirter
And it shows.
One's in the square
With large red shoes
Putting on a show.
But feet don't fit,
Soon he'll trip
With tongue-in-cheek ego.
One has rhine-red ruffs
Around her neck,
Her GNP
Surpasses debt;
Her audience finds
They too get wet.
A three-ringed circus
We're wise to regret.
One in the Yuan
Has a red nose on,
A harlequin clown
Asleep in red dawn.
But tweak his nose
And the tent comes down
On the Big Top Shows.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
With a wide demographic of *******
There's average, massive or missing
There are ******* to nibble and tweak at
And cleavages perfect for kissing
But I'm of a practical nature
And with just a little persistence
I'll give you a host of good reasons
To justify ******* existence
They're perfect for warming your hands up
When the gas meter's run out of gas
And there's little that's better to look at
When there's no chance of seeing an ***
Elasticity makes them ideal
For displays and arrangements of flowers
And if you find yourself short of your bus fare
Then they radiate magical powers
You can use then for counting in binary
Or a pillow with mild central heating
And they're perfect for holding a bottle
To keep safe while you're busily eating
As a pair of provocative earmuffs
You'll be envied by all of your friends
Just be sure to take optional tassels
In case one of the ******* offends
You can hollow one out for an ashtray
Or a skullcap for cutting edge Jews
You can throw them about like a Frisbee
There are just so many options to choose
But they're useful right where they're located
And not just to tickle and tease
Just give them a couple of decades
And you'll find them protecting your knees
MWAH! x
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Nibble Her Neck,
and She'll curl up Her Nose.
Massage Her Feet
and She'll curl up Her Toes.
Tickle Her Earlobes
and She'll Moan your Name.
Whisper Her Cow Girl
and She'll ride on your Frame.
Tweak Her Rosebuds
and She'll give out a Moan.
Kiss Her Lips,
and She'll slurp on your Cone.
Bite Her Toes
and She'll wriggle Her Waist.
Trickles of sweet Honey,
is all yours to Taste.
Apr 28, 2024
Apr 28, 2024 at 9:22 AM UTC
As low as nicknames go,
I chose the worst for you,I chose this as your position,
your time,
your place to me,
even if you're my third one,
you're all I can see.
You're my third one,
the third person to make me swoon,
You're my third one,
Though the first to make me feel torturingly alive,
You're my third one,
and you know what they say,
Third time's a charm.
I still feel guilty calling you Third
When you're my first
right now,right here,
Open or close,
My eyes,
They see your cheery white teeth
in your amazing smile,
My eyes,
They stare at your confident lazy eyes
coolly seeing,hiding your emotions in it's golden brown depths,
My eyes,
They appreciate your Greek-like,straight nose,
long with strength and sharp with confidence,
My eyes,
They see your mouse-like ears,
keen to casually hear
conversations you may not seem to care.
;
My eyes,
They see your fine build,
veins running downs places,up and over your tiny muscles.
My eyes,my heart,
they don't see your personality,
they only see the cool outside shell you've built around it.
Yes,occasionally,
you let go of that cool aura,
you goof off,you laugh,you act silly
with your friends.
And I'll stand there,
not even ashamed to stare
your perfection a glare
like your sun rays bear.
You like your sports,
your music,
your Dota 2.
I want to know everything about you.
That's the sad part,isn't it?
For me at least,I don't know about you.
I DON'T KNOW (ANYTHING)ABOUT YOU
YET I'M CRAAAAAZY
For you.
Get a hold of yourself,self.
The audience aren't here for screaming.
They want sadness ,tragedy,romanticism.
But damn,I can only give you guys 2.
There's no romance but in my head,my dreams,
torturing me with false hope and implanted feelings
No sadness but in my heart,
I can't have him,
I know,
I'm slowly tearing apart.
We don't talk,we don't speak,
we look,we glance,we sometimes take a dare and stare,
but
that's the only tweak.
There's no tragedy but in the non-romantic relationship between his friend and me,
I was called a stalker,
my best friend rudely rejected for small favors,
that's a tragic crushing history.
There were chances I could've taken,
if you,my Third One still sat on the bus,
when your sister wouldn't be between us,
but day after day
It slowly became a bust.
More sadness?
Well,summer's here.
I can't see you no more,
you didn't show the last week of school or the few days before.
I admit,I'm stalking you.
But I need you to stop stalking my mind,taking over my thoughts,my vision,
making me blind.
Maybe I'll forget about you the next 2 months.
It'll be hard but I'll try.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
When raids of knaves
And smitten sheep
Aimed to pervade
Our hide and seek,
Beneath enclaves
We'd creep and keep
Their souls, we flayed,
To hide and TWEAK.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 1:09 PM UTC
All too often the view is bleak,
generations under scrutiny and constant critique.
When all that lies within is misery,
all it might take is a tweak.
A new perspective.
A new technique.
To open the mind and think.
All too often we're blind to the beauty surrounding,
it can enlighten and be astounding.
Your spirit begins grounding.
A different view that seems to be organically compounding,
and tears fall as life's true nature becomes clear and resounding.
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 4:11 PM UTC
Sup Chuck?
Up Chuck?
What the ****
Chuck?
Lemme sip your
wood-chuck.
Lol
Don't tweak out
just because
they're tweaking with your
wires.
Keep your calm
&
give your fuse
a blow-out
blow job.
I am
Better off alone anyways.
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 12:58 AM UTC
<•>
For A:
The Pleasure of Infection
10:53 pm
our all about
is to be the whittler of our personage,
to both hold the knife with care,
but with risky, reckless artistry,
as we shape of what raw materials we are possessed,
into our own reshaped, reformed
most prized bejeweled possession
never mind the shavings and cutaways fallen,
they are fast away, castaway choices made and cannot be retrieved,
for when we whittle, whether our shape desired
which may be prior envisioned or a vision
from the discovery of performing,
they matter no more,
let them go, in their absence too,
they are part and a whit of you,
but not of you, no longer
our commonality in this: everything,
in everything else, so little
but your honesty and crafted, almost dishonesty both ring true,
and infect us with pleasure of recalling
when we
being cut designed and preparing our statue for
an unveiling, but with no date yet set,
and the loveliness of our mistakes,
were precious do-over opportunities
seek out the infection, the infection of discovery,
the risk of pleasure exposed and
your poetry may be either
the antibiotics
when the result is red and unpleasant,
or a celebration,
an invitation to us to be a
semi-silent beholder of your artistry
infections heal after pain and discoloration
but new skin always forms,
but at a different pace for each of us
I see the faces in my carpet nodding agreement,
"always new skin"
oh boy. time to go to bed
go seek out the pleasure of infection,
sadly, happily, it is the only way
good night
from an old man who dreams and schemes of
new skin nightly
but never mind me,
my piece long ago writ
and in need of just a tweak here and there,
call it one too many close shavings,
his poem's treasure trove,
a list
of life's minor irritations
and major lifts
<•>
11:16pm
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
I sit in front of my dressers mirror,
Stare at the plain adequate girl staring back at me,
Is she enough?
Can she walk out this door and hold her head up high?
No.
And so I pull,
And tweak
And brush
And dry,
I look at the girl in the mirror again,
Her hair is done up,
Pretty and well kept,
But dead dry and limp because of damage,
And I can’t help but think it represents my inner self,
Though dead,
I look substantially better,
But is she enough?
This girl staring back at me?
Can she hold her head up high with the confidence of knowing what she wants?
No.
And so I apply base,
Concealer,
Try to fix my uneven complexion and blemishes,
Eye shadow,
Then eye liner,
Mascara,
Lipstick….
And again I stop to look at the girl,
She looks like women now,
As every feature is defined and highlighted,
Her complexion even,
Blemish free…
But is it enough,
This women staring back at me,
As the make up smudges and rubs off,
She’ll become the drab adequate girl underneath it all,
I can put on beautiful clothes,
Amazing jewellery,
But I remain the plain adequate girl that stares back at me,
With her sad eyes,
Set jaw,
Lips that barely ever quirk upwards with a hint of a smile,
That girl who’s cried so many eyeliner smudging tears,
That girl who fears,
Everything,
Everyone,
No matter how much I do,
To hide her away,
Keep her from the world,
No matter how many layers of,
‘Happy’,
I try to mask her with,
She will come out,
As my clothes grow rumpled,
My jewellery loses its shine,
Its glow,
As my hair turns grey,
My make up smudges,
I become her again,
And is she enough?
I stare at her long and hard,
I notice the high cheekbones,
The strong set features,
I realize this girl is only adequate,
Because she believes it,
Only plain because it’s all she’s ever been convinced to see,
With all her wear and tear,
She is beautiful.
And so I grab my make up remover,
Wipe away the mask suffocating me,
I shake my hair out to its full volume,
I remove the jewellery that’s cold against my warmth,
And I look at this plain adequate girl,
Not so plain and adequate anymore,
And I ask myself,
Is she enough?
Enough to face the world proudly as whom and what she is?
Is she?
Those sad eyes stare back at me with a new found spark,
Those set lips quirk up into a hint of a sly smile,
And she winks at me.
Yes.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
**Parades of knaves,
And smitten sheep;
Came to pervade
OUR hide and seek...**
*Depraved – I caved
To strut; to seek
Tirades of graves
With CREEP antiques.
CHARADES engraved
On my physic;
Enslaved, I waved
Through gift-wrapped chic.*
**For Beneath enclaves,
She seeks the meek
whose souls – she'd flay,
To Hide-and-TWEAK.**
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
The motorcycle being the ride
God’s word being the preaching stride
The ride leading believers into salvation
The spoken word being God’s own revelation
Faith that Heaven can only create
Unbelief is nothing more than to hesitate
Praying hands with indication needing participation
Then it is the Holy Spirit that gets the world’s attention
God doesn’t need to ride to make his point
He wants us to listen and understand as God’s word speaks
It’s not a twitter with a tweak
It’s not a contest where one competes
It’s pure salvation conquering struggles in defeat
The steps of our footprints
The sun capturing our years from our walk
Echoes from Heaven hearing our every word in talk
The value of understanding
The Bible being the key to knowledge
What has already been spiritually kicked in
It becomes the continued walk until days end.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
Her eyelashes act as anchors
sinking them down to her cheeks.
Tiredness devours her body
acting as if she hasn't slept in weeks.
Instead she is engulfed by her inner
turmoil that she can't seem to tweak.
She finds herself lost at sea with
all of her thoughts unable to shriek.
-nk
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
Oh
That laugh
Deep from your core
Uncontrollable outbursts
Fill up the corners of the room
Something truly real surrounding my head
Oh how I need something real
The way you lose yourself in the joy
The sound of happiness
Shuffles it's way through me
Chills run my bones
Nerves a bit queasy from something so new
My lips turn up with a grin
Something so strange is happening to me
What is this stifling emotion
It's weight on my lungs
I fight
And lose
Bubbling up my throat
A sound very similar
Laughter
A forgotten voice
A long lost ability
Contagious you are
Rubbing your filthy joyous self all over me
What is this preposterous habit
I run my hands down my arms
Wiping away this feeling
But
You girl... You.
What are you doing to me
Telepathically rearranging my neurons
With your leaky smiling eyes
And your mouth all open
Head thrown all around
How do you tweak my strings
Pulling my smile out from under the rubble
Warming my heart with those eyes
Burning red are my cheeks
It's like I've forgotten how to feel
And I'm coming to life again
Oh
That laugh
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
By the by,
I am a tweak of reality,
Quite f'rtile. Touch me
And impregnate me
With w'rds.
F.Z.N
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC