Melancholy; weighty and drenched limbs thrown to and fro and the meat of my muscle is dry off the bone.
I'm tired.
Trips to the moon driven by rocket fuel and the phenomenon is dilated with beaureaucratic paper work. Believe it. Because the taste buds of my soul haven’t been tickled in years and we are annoyed by your minstrel show. Remember me, but baby please forget my fate.
1 comment:
I liked this one alot, keep it up and keep posting! We need more stuff here from you Tinisha :0. Hopefully when we get back for the summer we can do some more performances.
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