I made quick work of something, still I'm dazed for the lack in which I tried with any effort to make it meaningful, in any way. I know it's okay to say that I'd rather not, from time to time, it's fine in ways I'd say I'd rather not, now and all the time. Tremble at the meager can, a lip fortune, any circle, many raise up and throw: Too much to phrase or less yet possible. Loud on the floor, living magazine, among a scene of things, any which to step up you have to pay the price you wagered with your birth today. A vow is just a claim, a term again used when it's yours to gain. Guffawed heaves will make quick work of us some way. I waited for a minute and the day's gone and hid itself away too far to see, too late to make what was to be.
all rights reserved