touch has two hands and god is sleeping on this poem
The cops are beating a guy who says mom mom mom and the cops in their motherlessness get more mad. Artistic, faithful, wtf. Some plastic in us that makes us want heaven. My brothers smoke cigarettes or faint doing math. Time is a sick angel but not the sickest. What this means to snow is Franz I don’t have the details. I think my love is real.
kingsoftrain 
Leave a comment