March
April 2010
When do you stop coughing up lies like phlegm? Every word you utter, every sentence you stutter flows straight down the gutter with me wishing you were a shutupper. But this poetic license I use
I cannot outrun you, not with midnight hiding my way. Creeping tendrils coming through the walls that should ceep you at bay. Overhead darkness raining. Someone needs a little saving. But I kee
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