| Blah Blah Blah. The sunset still hasnt passed its border point, But Im watching as it creeps its way up the path. The sickles of dew Spit onto the blades of grass tounge, shimmer and sparkle on what remains of the day. Cast your shadow under the tree that overpowers your own. Darken the seacrest that hallows through its marrow to find a supple amount of what remains of your soul....Ghost still dance along that path. I too find myself finding myself that way... The land where the sun finds its dying days. No idea why I typed that.....ARG. AND I DONT SHOW SHIT. DONT ASK. Talk Shit, Get Hit. |
