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Results 1-10 of about 318 for the
Unorganized
(0.031 sec)
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DISCLAIMER: Please excuse the nature of the poetry. Not very good. Nonsensical. Just started writing again. Give me a break. waiting. Days, weeks, months, years. Spiting the time Hiding from her. What does the man see? When he comes to say, "hello," Shake my hand, Grope my breasts. Are truths so bold, That one must exile themselves To obtain a sense of self? Must my need for you, Drive me ...

http://define-oblivion.livejournal.com/935.html
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Published: 6 months, 3 weeks ago (Wed, 24 Dec 2008 23:41:42 PST); 1891 bytes
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define_oblivion
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