A plea, a prose

ask me, ask meWho am INext pageArchive

ur physical presence makes me sick

it has burnt before, much more, much more
yet when he hits your tongue, im young, im young

who should we believe in the morning?
saddled two; forlorn in
this is crystal cut coventry
yet still she’ll tell me to change

I’ll always be her falling place
hands soft, arms strong to pull her pace
soaking down, she tears me hard
every night, cursed girl’s bard

as lost, as always

old pieces

old words (younger)

old words (juvenile, so juvenile)


i let you down. wayward and wild.