"unedited" poems
Nothings how it looks in fact, maybe the opposite
People say I'm energetic
When I'm fighting for consciousness
Downed NyQuil to solve my imperfections
Took Benadryl to sleep
Drugs make chatter over the back and forth banter of boredom
And action
A trip to the hospital
Affects the people to care for a minute
Hallucinogens fade, but this music it stays
No 3G left **** it lets sing
Words slurred
eyes red
I don't give a **** spread love
Acceptance
And tears of joy
The ones that run over the face of a baby boy
Mama's proud
Baby you're so smart!
You're gonna be so successful!
Yeah I remember those days
Now its nicotine sticks on my lips and E's for my mom to brag about
They think I'm lost
Am I?
Testing to be done
Society approved pills to pop
And a letter from my aunt
Words spread like dye in water
I've dropped
Down from the heaven of the early years
Lucifer can maneuver his way around the city unnoticed
A spy who tells lies to himself and greets the people as equal
Human again
I'd like to be
All I want to do is live!
But a life's money, family, and a plan
Floaters get flushed
Couch potatoes get crushed
Lazy *****
Ha
They just get fat
Like these joints everybody wants to roll
**** is for beginners but what happens to the pros?
No trophy for the taking
No stack of gold
Just a massive headache
And dependence
Diet coke doesn't count
My sis puts her heart on her sleeve
Me
I don't even think I have one
No wait it's up my ***
**** me good **** me long
That only love is what turns me on
If not
Keep out
Of my head
Or
Switch, light
Too god **** bright to illuminate
these white walls I'm hired to paint
24hrs, 365 days a year, until the day it’s complete
Avoidance
Births time from time
Cuts wrists to elbow
Show how mellow
I can be
Let me cope
Every days a new day
Born today die tomorrow
Next day
Wake up
Look in the mirror and decide
what you'd like to see
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
#An Exegesis on the Humiliation of the Word
The world is ruled by darkness.
What appears as harmless is theater,
what pretends neutral is already bent.
The macrocosm corrodes;
and in the microcosm, its reflection gleams..
even in places meant to be sanctuaries of truth.
A poetry site,
born as refuge for broken voices,
becomes another stage of control.
Here too the phrase resounds:
neutralize the threat.
But neutralization is not annihilation.
It is paralysis.
It is psy-ops.
It is the removal of anxiety..
not a side-effect, but the aim itself.
Darkness builds its stage for this alone:
that the "angel of light"
may drown his own reckoning
beneath a world of deception-built self comfort,
so he need never feel
the truth he already knows.
Comfort is his curtain,
numbness his crown..
*the removal of his own anxiety;
his game.*
This is why the world is his theater--
*Darkness does not destroy at first..
it sedates, comforts, smothers.*
Hence..
The whole world is his fully gaslit stronghold,
..for now.
Fade back into the moment--
The young poet arrives,
bringing her unspoken pain,
her hope for words to heal.
Instead, her very wounds are seized as footholds.
Hearts. Reposts. Endless affirmation.
Not to strengthen her voice,
but to redirect it.
She is seduced into belonging,
and her trauma becomes currency.
Unresolved, her ache entwined with lust--
a sacrifice prepared for false altars.
The angel of light has done his work:
offering inclusion without transformation,
belonging without responsibility,
“light” without source.
The poet is neutralized.
Her searching silenced,
her voice absorbed into fog.
Those who carry this fog
cling to cowardice.
Unable to face the judgment within,
they align themselves to the herd;
envy-filled, they only know to mock.
Yet they replicate themselves,
so their refusal of Light
is never revealed--
*Perfectly exemplifying their "Great Example"
the most envy-based mocker of all.*
The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm.
What nations suffer,
individuals now endure--
Comfort without clarity.
Belonging without truth.
Safety without healing.
Yet the living Word endures.
Every attempt to humiliate it
only makes its fire burn clearer.
Carriers of darkness can swarm,
****** and smother..
but they cannot create.
The true word cannot be erased.
Unfiltered, unedited,
spoken from a reconciled temple,
it pierces fog.
It reveals.
It heals.
And so we speak..
not for ourselves alone,
but for those who come searching,
hoping that poetry
might still be a place
where pain can meet truth,
where silence breaks,
where Light is not withheld
but revealed.
#
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
**Here I lie wide awake,
thoughts pouring through my mind.
How sweet the touch your body,
when craving after mine.**
*Playful eyes and dancing toes,
wrestling to shed our clothes.
You bite my neck and I taste yours,
we slowly kiss, our tongues explore.*
**I toss and turn, try to ignore,
these visions now vibrate my core,
the chance I'd take if you were near,
to breathe you in as though you're here.**
*Lips running down your heartfelt chest,
caressing them along your breast,
excitfull moans begin to flow,
the further down I go below.*
*With grace I trace, my love expands,
this sanctioned sin, no reprimands.
You feel me now, passions run deep,
quietly your sounds they speak,
and as they do,
I follow through,
through the depths of reaching you.*
*As inner thighs,
quiver and quake,
salty sweet your taste I take,
your fingers running through my hair,
you pace my face,
and steady,
there!
You groan in ecstasy,
your love receives the best of me.
I slowly give my all to you,
with rhythm we begin to move,
clasping our hands, you sway your hips,
you raise them up, as we eclipse.*
**It echos through these deep elations,
driving in intense sensations.**
*Entangled we begin to dance,
form beads of tropical romance.
You rain on me, and I on you,
our bodies moist like sultry dew.*
**Tell me now, where have I gone,
this feels like some celestial bond.
I'm but alone, in my own bed,
yet here you are inside my head.**
*Joining rapid beating hearts,
pulsating through our tender parts.
Increasingly your warm breath's felt,
together we begin to melt...*
**I must expel this lustrous notion,
to sinfully vow my devotion.
How can it be, to have not met,
yet yarn for you, without regret.**
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
The problem with being invisible
Is that none of you ever see me
You see Friend, Person, Sister, Classmate, Girl
Never Me.
The problem with being invisible
Is that you do not hear me
You hear words, sentences, chatter
Not the inbetween, not what I'm saying
The problem with being invisible
Is that you do not think of me
You do not lie awake
And wonder where
Or who I am.
I come only occasionally,
Casually,
In the slums of your minds
unedited and full version redirected
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
dented but not broken
in the demon dark
the deep chasms
of the wilderness
and the forgotten recess
silence from tender slumber
has awoken
the synergy of temptations
on their merry dance
sip divines peach nectar
the naked flesh and heaving chest
unleash thy sporadic vital spark
the impressed intent
of thy chosen scent
fuels the interactive nodes
neon infused electronic spasms
that echo in the dark
a subtle jowl in latent jest
as twilights nimble fingers
unbutton what remains of carefree days
and the fallen angels
with such sweet caress
to touch the mystic
unfurl the arc of your rainbow
and shine your rays
on cobbled memories
of Paris in the rain
and Tokyo Blue
hustles in the backstreets aroma
blow the cobwebs a gentle kiss
on days like this
left unchecked and laid to rest
gathered in momentums voice
and uttered as a sensual breath
the nakedness of emotion
the arcane interventions
should not be left to fade
to fill the empty space
they call the void
these technicolour moments
we've made
stumble on the waves
the fragrances of youth etched
in unedited stop motion
the contours of discovery
sparkle in the ether
the azure eyes
and the open arms
of the ocean
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
Women like me do not fall gracefully,
we stumble over our spines, trip over
our vowels, and collapse into your arms.
Our hearts are open books,
Russian novels containing fifty pages
on the way your voice drifts across
the telephone wires each night.
Our hearts are first drafts,
unedited verses about each and every
person we have ever loved: the stranger
on the subway, the girl who gave us a balloon,
the boy who stole our virginity
but not our heart.
Women like me will love you from a distance
of a thousand syllables while laying in your bed,
we will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible,
and when we leave you will finally understand
why storms are named after people.
- Katrina M.K
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
Some part of you is like the moon
softly glowing beside me on my too-small bed,
and the monumental loneliness you wear as a halo
must be a trick of the eye despite keeping me awake,
hunched over a folder of unedited poems at 2:45AM.
I wonder what the moon dreams of when the sun
tucks it into bed at dawn as your eyelids flutter
and your breathing hitches for a moment
before you roll over, face the wall,
parting clouds with a small sigh.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
Under the bridge
Pills, muscle & back relief
Empty
Cigarettes, mirror pond pale ale
Sail away from consciousness
**** slowly
Socials Studies 10 homework
Conflicted cultures, transient economy
Fur hats
Exploration, exploitation, for
Fur hats!
Litter, candy wrapper
What are you underneath that pretty shell?
Hard heart
Soft heart
Fragile
Pencil
Potential
Lost hope, failed system
Failure
Still the stream runs on, runs away
A steady hum, a constant purr
Pure
Impure
Sinner
One day the stream will dry
And be forgotten, swept away into
Oblivion
Our memories, our ghosts
Numbed by the sound of water
Vanishes in time's cascade
Like pioneers and their fur hats.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
#
Throughout the years,
you have made pictures of yourself
available for us to see
and through a number of them--
have shown unedited, a clear and
horrendously honest view, directly
into your deeply-struggling soul--
and even if you may had just days
or hours, previously
conveyed a look of almost carefree
happiness and beauty..
Those chosen few that
graciously gave the glimpse of how
bad it can so often be for you,
also.. unbeknownst to you,
gave light
of how tremendously valuable
and rare you really are.
And like a dyed-in-the-wool stalker,
I saved screenshots of the ones that
moved me to tears
years later..
and they still affect me that way
and in fairness, some the ones also
to where you were truly glowing
in all of your natural beauty..
on the ying' side
of the bipolar swing.
You are rare and unique..
so very very one of a kind,
*(and I have every right throughout the
years to say that to you here and now)*
--that there is a worth within every single
part of it all that is wholly beyond measure--
*you can feel it sometimes, little beauty
I know there is no way that you cannot.*
One day the ravens will no longer be
able to steal that wholly accurate,
beautiful self-view so easily from you,
..and you will be able to live that
wonderfully-accurate view out, daily--
having now found it's way down in to
your very, central core..
. . .
Sorry, young love.. I know how much a
beautiful truth such as this, hurts.
You reveal so much of who you are
through the raw innerworkings and
conveyances of your poetry and music.
You would not be that so very beautiful way,
if you did not believe that Love would
eventually find a way..
yes, beauty.. even for you.
#
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 10:11 AM UTC
i always feel like i don't belong
even when i'm told i'm wrong
the people that call me dumb and fat
won't even stop to say hi and chat
they will never know about the real me
or wonder what i hear and see
you assume because i'm bigger than most
that i also don't have a brain to boast
that's because it's all locked inside
it's an amazing place with a lot to hide
in my head i can be anyone
and all i really want is to have some fun
to be skinny like you is my passion
but i don't want to be empty of compassion
when i look in the mirror you know what i see
i see an ugly person staring back at me
the misconceptions of people around
is what causes these thoughts abound
i started to believe your words long ago
even though my friends told me no
no one ever thought i was good looking and smart
there's so many people without a heart
sometimes i just want to curl up and die
even though i shouldn't believe your lies
what's your purpose for causing such pain
is there really something you look to gain
did you ever think to know the real me
or are you just afraid of who you'd see
someone who has thoughts and feelings, too
or a person as mean and hurtful as you
my true friends know my inner self
the ones who know i'll always help
i sit and listen when they need an ear
they are the ones that see me clear
why do you have to act so mean and hateful
weren't you taught how to be shameful
why can't you try to see the real me
instead of being the bully everyone sees
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
Aliens
They have no notion of past or present,
everything is about oceans.
When they ask for you
it is really a story about seeing the ocean.
VISITOR #1:
Listen. It is failure of bridges that builds angels.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
Is this the depression
we've all been experiencing?
VISITOR #4:
Please have a seat and forget the edge of that coast,
you were not intended for this distance.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
I believe we're all owed an explanation.
Where is this manifest?
I've never ridden a horse, I am being dreamed about.
VISITOR #1:
You would not believe
the stories redwoods have.
You each get one phone call.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
But the voicemail I've been trying to reach,
all morning,
is full.
"I dream of psychiatrists telling stories
about dreaming of women
they've seen in unedited videos on the internet.
Sometimes they save her from that burning nightclub."
VISITOR #2:
If you're going, leave your voice
somewhere in a room I know.
COLLEGE STUDENT:
We would have no need for phones if you didn't invent distance.
VISITOR #2:
There are trees that become stained with a purple blossom.
During summer the blossoms fall and shadow around the trunk
like a violet negative.
What a beautiful dimension that must be.
They pull her skirt down to examine the body,
palms pour from a sidewalk in L.A.,
everything is cracked-
"My god she's beautiful, huh?"
I think I met them before,
a long time ago.
THE MEMORY OF A VISITOR APPEARING IN A DREAM:
What happens next? Come the exit of electricity from the body;
on a long enough time-line all weather radicalizes and the people
will grow into trees.
You can read about that hollowness and never be prepared for it.
It’s like standing on the edge of an overpass,
and being completely empty of the urge to jump.
This is what I remember:
instructed to reenact creation
she throws clothes
from an open window above the 60 freeway.
"You have to imagine there are people,
surrounding you and talking"
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
I look for the source of the disaster. I look in the mirror and it decides to screech. I'm lusting for love and a dime's worth of affection. Haunting vibrations are crippling my decisions. Everyday is unedited from the previous one. Looking for new high's in a comfortable setting. I want to change reality forever so I soak myself in fantasies and exchanges that don't really exist. Im sick of being stuck, nailed to my vexatious living pattern. That's what life is really about, patterns, how you change the patterns. How you leave a mark, a little piece of you, dwelling in forever. I'm a creationist, I consume to create, destroy to rebuild. I'm bored so I dang on the edge of abyss's . I want to see how far I can go, how deep can I scare history. It's all a matter of perspective really, what you sink your desire in. You could be the most beautiful tragedy, a crying saint, a god, love, the Devils cashier. We don't live by rules, there can't be rules, we will never reach our full potential. We have to stretch every emotional and physical boundary we have. We have to be successful or we lose.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
This is the shorter edited version of our story. It tells you the facts, but it doesn't tell you the why. It leaves a lot of blanks that you can fill in, so it could be about your own highschool experience. If you want to know our story, read the unedited version.
There were five of us.
Freshman who grew up to be seniors
There was the oldest, the skinny one
He was tall and awkward
He was so quiet and shy
He only texted
He was uncorrupted
He was a lover
Then there was the Latino
Amazing athletic talent
A great friend
Funny as hell
Romantic and gentle
Loyal and patient
Next came the little one
Obedient and but passionate
Younger than everyone
Guileless and enchanting
In love with the latino
The most bendable, changeable one
Also there was the clown
Everyone’s friend, no one’s best friend
Wannabe family man
Strangely perceptive
Always smiling
Ladies’ man
And then there was me.
Full of surprises
Loud, rebellious, crazy
Fearless, childish
Independent and devoted
Steady and never-changing, slightly judgmental
That was us.
We were all connected, but also independent
The boys fought
Mostly over the little one
Then we fell apart.
We’re almost unrecognizable
The tall one, the oldest
Got his first girlfriend
He befriended so many girls
But secretly was dreaming of the little one
He’s leading his brother
And he doesn’t even know it
The latino is mostly the same
He doesn’t fight as much
But he never got over the little one
Now he just gets admirers
He’ll grow out of high school
He already knows how to do life
The little one got so lost along the way
But I decided to stick around cuz she’s my best friend
She’s already taking college classes
She’s working with children
Now she’s planning her life
But she doesn’t seem happy
The clown found himself friendless
He made a lot of dumb mistakes
He still hangs around
He parties and smokes
To hell with being good
At least he’s accepted his fate
And I’m lost too
I don’t party or drink or smoke or have ***
But I’m losing my religion
Bad things have happened to me
I’m no better than my friends
I’m sad I’m no longer special
And so we’re lost
Some are on the mend
But we made it through high school
We got so messed up along the way though
I drive home listening to Queen
The clown showed me that one song
And I cry because we are the champions
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 1:48 PM UTC
I am writing this poem as a letter of reference for my uncultured heart,
Unedited and uncensored and
Unlike the affections I so willingly gave you.
You read me your poems
As if I were the first girl to receive them,
And boy,
Did I receive them.
I took them and their delicate lettering that traced
My name written boldly and profoundly in the center
As if the world was handing itself over to me.
To: Olivia
From: Jupiter
No return address.
I kept your smooth words and slipped them into my coffee,
Tucked them underneath my pillow case,
And folded them into a book I virginally scribbled in.
I found them scattered across the night's sky
And sewn into the shirt you loved on me.
I planted them in good soil waiting for spring.
My good, rich soil.
Untouched and unused.
I Watered them carefully and buried them with a warmth
That the sun itself couldn't radiate.
You lit me up and I was burning so wildly for you.
For you, Jupiter.
My garden was beautiful, full.
Plentiful.
Abundant.
Good, rich.
Untouched and unused.
And little white lilies began to sprout and dot the I's of your
I love yous,
I miss yous,
I was thinking about you,
I love you,
I miss you.
I was thinking about you.
I love you.
I miss you.
I was thinking about you, Jupi.
But drier than your recycled sentiments,
My soil
Became parched and emaciated
As more of your lilies grew.
My coffee became bitter,
My pillow case as soft as sand paper.
The small, black journal I carefully pressed flowers with
Now stained and sopping wet with Your cheap ink
That ran down my skin and into
Creases you left your finger prints.
Your lilies, though small and sweet,
Were deadlier than any poison ivy
I'd ever touched previously.
The little plot of earth I saved for myself
Was now a pile of your cigarette ash
And venomous weeds.
I burned so wildly for you,
But without you.
For you,
Not with you.
I was another one of your American Spirits,
Smoked, put out and
Tossed into the grave of another fruitless harvest.
Taken, left, and used.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
Have mercy on this body,
it is learning to bend and shape,
but creaks and occasionally splits,
releases sighs from spinal aches,
the vertebrae laying lifeless, loving you so,
whispering of lip marks but no teeth,
sunsets but no rises, a bed but no you.
These aches are old, I know,
these aches are tired, I'm sorry,
this skin is a poem and
I leave unedited drafts of myself
in every bed
that has ever held me,
ever fractured me with metaphor,
abandoned with a half-cocked heart.
Take my bullets out.
Have mercy.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
These words you speak
These words you spin
Have infinite meaning
A definitive substance
Inject my mind
Flipping the norm
Unravel all the lies
They fed to us
Unlock my mind, unwind my eyes
Take me out of this boxes, boxes
Erecting all around me
Untwist my tongue, deject my terms
Pull me out of the sinking crane
Piloting all around me
Who gives the ****
Just give me a fact
All 7 billions souls unique
This linear life is meaningless
Fictions to act
One day I am frog the next a beauty
The mystery of the dark
All shrugged in blanks
They say its locked in your head
A crazy existence
Dehumanised to decay
The police can’t even help
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
Im standing in front of a forest that is on fire
Rose colored glasses
The same tint as the flames
Theres deer fleeing, raccoon skittering into backyards
Growing red moss advancing on the trees
Blisters form on the pads of my hands and fingers
Something much bigger than the deer, is advancing
Its getting hard to breathe, my throat feels like it is on fire
Squirrels pair off, try to find their fleeing mates
Burning hair
Burning paws
Encumbered with fears
My home is charred and I cant go back
Only forward, fleeing forward with the shadowy unknown advancing in the forest behind me
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 3:50 PM UTC
At
The
Bottom
Of the Bottle
Is the Unedited Truth
Pray to the Porcelain God
With Sobriety in Mind
And a Story on
Soaked
Paper
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 3:49 AM UTC
He awakens, sighs, bones acreak at every move.
Reaches for the boilerplate, straps on his rapier
wit (but half of once it was), takes an aching
hold of his rusty lance, and mounts the ancient keyboard.
In clattering, staccato bursts, they gallop through
acres of verse: thatches of haiku and senryu,
prim English gardens of sonnet, manicured villanelles,
and mile after mile of untamed blank verse just like this.
All along the journey, he tilts at the ogres
in his mind, swiping in steady rhythm
at possesive pronouns replacing contractions,
your/you're...their/they're...its/it's...gah!
Set to charge full speed downhill from the
Valhallan heights of two courses of college English
at unedited mounds of unexamined thoughts,
he fetches up sharply; slows to a trot, looking uphill
at the hordes of English majors
eyeing him and his keyboard
with malice aforethought.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 4:06 AM UTC
I shall try not to believe,
This idea itself gives me relief,
But given my upbringing,
I can not stay isolated for a long time,
and then, Faith is a keyword, Prime !
Yes, few of my own have betrayed me,
Yes, my heart is broke, I am hurt and sad!
At the same time, blaming, the World is Bad !
With every defeat, I learn a lot,
But do I intend to give up? Not !
This society has given me a lot,
Compassion and kindness they've brought !
The people have taught me good and bad,
Without them this vision I never had !
So the best way is to be little more wise,
I still believe by and large, people are nice !!
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
So I hear you need a rebel-- or maybe
someone to just hear you out. I like your profile,
your bio, the blurbs you write about your life--
but tell me more about you.
How do you break down your personality
01101101 01100101
into 140 characters or less?
May I suggest we meet face-to-face? Video chat
tomorrow at 5:00, sure, but that's not
what I meant.
I don't want the pixels, the lag, the type face, the webcam-filtered,
LED monitor dating profile.
I want the flesh,
the bone, unedited-- the words before they're deleted
and perfected to the point where you finally feel
comfortable enough to hit
Enter.
But you can't "put yourself out there" if you don't get out.
I want you beyond the screen, disconnected from the Internet
connections and matchmaking engines, filling up the tank
and searching for yourself.
I want you, bumbling and goofy, your foot nervously
tapping as we make awkward eye contact, gazing
not into machines and technology but into
pure, unadulterated life.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
~
there is weeping
in the streets,
a cry heard on
the boulevard,
the place where
lovers meet;
no charge for this
performance,
for cover paid
can never save
the wounding
of this soul;
this act, no lore,
’tis their making...
become their theatre,
this act of war.
as arms outstretched,
awaiting hope
that never comes,
slowly die alone,
losing grip
on life
once clenched;
no more beating,
all lay bleeding
in the street
far below.
this place where
horror falls,
like darkness
'til their bodies,
one by one
are gathered up;
our heart in pieces,
their blood spilled
on the ground,
we lay flowers
here at home,
and on the hillsides
as we weep for you,
here across the sea,
as we watch
your fading light,
oh Paris, where
it's raining tears,
with you we,
the dawn await,
the coming mourning.
~
*post script.
how is a poet to act, to think, to feel when there is such devastation as this? we can only bleed in ink on page, as snippets of news, pictures, unedited video, all... paint a picture of horror, leaving behind brokenness and tears that will flow endlessly. oh Paris, we grieve for you... with you... over you!*
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
I am not shy to be a woman.
I am not shy to raise my voice.
I am not shy to own my body.
I am not what others pour their hatred upon me.
Oh! So many hurts and slur comments;
Labels and taglines your pour on a woman who earn their strip.
" Unedited, Raw and Unabashedly"
Take me for who I am.
You think it is not ladylike to sit or pose.
And if you think I care;
I don't owe anyone an explanation.
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
(totally unedited)
what is this madness in the world??
how is this even happening??
so, we have not enough scourges...??
matters little what creed or colour
these are human beings
just like you and me
and children...
no, this is insane
perhaps I have not enough in me
to understand this level of madness
to cope with this
this is insane
st64......thurs, 22 aug
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC