There is no Sinner, like a young Saint.
In the prime, just sour 17. Bit of dazzle dust and a pint of cherry lambrini, utter xanadu. A pic'n'mix of contradicitons, personal jokes and nervous laughter. I attend Palmer's college, its the best place to daydream. We all have fears, mine is the lone magpie; up yours. I also have convenient beliefs, such as; Poems are a good way to write down all of the bollox in your head. Meta-fucking-phoric, also, Dirt grows flowers. I hate it when people lie about their feelings in an attempt to keep me happy. I'm lucky! With friends like those and a boyfriend who actually takes the time to figure me out. I make sense inside my head, okay...bye.
It's strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, the lover must struggle for words.
