Come inside a smokey room. With a paper and pen. Incense and cigarettes, flowers and water. They all go together, too well.
This is our journey. And our love, will sail us through.
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
Comma Commas COmmas commas
Where are you I think about it? We have stopped, stumbled, stuttered over these words too much, There is a pregnant comma on our foreheads. Clean the page now. I wanna fucking write.
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