manuscriptx
New Member
......the deed to the spirited debate and it might speak of it soulfully to tears; to watch to have and to hold over me; to wonder and be forewarned; to banter about and wonder why you can't tell me lies or half-truths. I see great many things. Like them and the somberness they hold over my shoulder. I understand that is apparent and that there are needs; nightmares and pleasures to be met and respected. I understand that there are dangers. A soft white pillow to land over my feet and tickle my male breasts when there are so many differing and intertwining thoughts; twice as likely ( as before but untold ) outcomes to every store as there would have been and would be endings. Happy is the deer field’s careful break. Worried and scared is the man if and when I'm afraid to wonder then there isn't much else left but shame and sorrow; and it is that that comes as a surprise. How would I have felt if the lens over my eyebrow were softer; questioning everything under intense scrutiny.
A salty lake by the river is loaded with bullets and brains; seventy chairs and rocks; jades; sweat; Hebrew symbols and memory cards. Like amber toenails blacklisted off the valley they came with spiders and high costs; Irish vanilla cupcakes, blackberries, toast and Spanish soup; vegetables, tomatoes, onions and a ringer from the lion's gate. The one I truly love; the one I lost. Her apologies were too wide; too narrow and did not conform to the unusual and uniform satire. So much was still not clear. Can it be said without wondering or touching lips or making deals with the sin eater? Is there is a line between the sand we won't cross? Is there a time to care when won't have it again and when there is a reason for less hate than average; a reason to go; a reason to help without water or forgiveness; or a reason to quit or go down until tomorrow?
A salty lake by the river is loaded with bullets and brains; seventy chairs and rocks; jades; sweat; Hebrew symbols and memory cards. Like amber toenails blacklisted off the valley they came with spiders and high costs; Irish vanilla cupcakes, blackberries, toast and Spanish soup; vegetables, tomatoes, onions and a ringer from the lion's gate. The one I truly love; the one I lost. Her apologies were too wide; too narrow and did not conform to the unusual and uniform satire. So much was still not clear. Can it be said without wondering or touching lips or making deals with the sin eater? Is there is a line between the sand we won't cross? Is there a time to care when won't have it again and when there is a reason for less hate than average; a reason to go; a reason to help without water or forgiveness; or a reason to quit or go down until tomorrow?