Tuesday, March 04, 2008
This home's a mess. This life's a test. This fears are best. This hope's a pest.
To batter and bruise, A defenseless defense, A lie to abet, The decadence of sense.
That build the hopes of the nested seed, In hope it might for once concede, That faults were made and hate now lack, So bury yours and turn the tables back.
Cashvin. 3/04/2008 01:41:00 AM
my comatose
its far too much for me.
scream.CashvinChristopher
20's not all that bad : finds solitude in the guitar. singing my lungs out. senseless expressive poetry. making a fool of myself. :)
