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When we are crashed on hillsides drinking clouds As wind turns pebbles from the ancient trees Often my mind has cause to enshroud The moment in bliss...
Venturing into pillboxes sometimes evokes notions of simultaneous deep-time; WWII terror, modern littering and fornication coupled with some faint trace of an awful future use.
Here’s to the wretched! the awful and the stumbling Who prowl our streets as most suck sleep into their pillows mumbling They are the sick-stained remnants of ghostly buried youth
After Keith dumped me I used to just sit around watching Cash in the Attic, spooning tub after tub of ice cream into my hopeless throat. I was so unhappy with the way my body looked.