Androgyny escapades
Literally I am hopeful for this knowledge, but it only has a bond (not chemical) with itself for a now which wishes to last forever (death the bear shits like the straw it wanted to be).
Lonesome at this pole is changing a grass palace: grenades shoot from rifled barrels at mercurially tempered angry injured feelings.
You want sensibility, as proud as dreams with love and with leavening leftists plotting a mother's failure.
Lake a lasting lowering love. The injuries to me were in God. That felt stupid. That was a Goddess on God. Chowder makes drugs run into emulsificated efforts. You are meek to dream; as change argues with change, a volatility opens onto places that under you were pain.
People who let malevolence hope want to give effortlessness the places in suffering that want sum -- the "summary" of it all.
Mayonnaise bothers me. It eggs me on to oil kinds of laughter.
Words that snarling emerge to bedevil me.
English is money. Pain came for me with antlers. It's the way of happy ambling puffs of death.
You are someone that saves strength for your goals. I run to exotic wonders such as "level my death."
The differences ask only for one knowledge -- a fear of hope.
Popes and bishops, teachers and trendmakers.
Keep your perch or mention that our hopes grew from winter's life.
The major component of such is family.
Your startled demeanor (demented and direct) wisely drifts to the weasel.
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