untitled one.
apparently you don’t have the correct heart and mind for such art, my dear.
excuse me love but i will speak as such until i’ve had enough. for my God, i don’t care about which form of written word tastes sour or sweet upon your scarlet tongue.
don’t make this stop for that would be the death of all things bright and the light would cease and the ocean’s breeze would fail to reach the trees and all the little boys and girls scraped knees dangling from the swings at night.
