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Gibberish and frustration # 17
Whatever the last thing was…I don’t recall. Beneath a Gray-Green moon, I see the weebles sing to three. Antagonistic forces drum up the salty wounds divorces. And the smell of old school rooms shoots the noses of our…selves.
Bid take on thee that there will be a stupid lingering woe. And that the freakish regret that you feared so long will scar and leave you low.
Thus with blankets draped across the stools and truth or dare played by the schools in the summertime where grownups weren’t and treehouses so filled with dirt and highlighting stains beduct the walls and roommates fall across the halls. If only then what we do now and learned puck could make amends and pity’s sake grasp undo fire and vorpal blades they quench desire while burning futures for our fear that is the only thing that determines where we go!
