fred

She doubts me. She loathes me. She hates me. My sweet little angel, embedded in white sheets, doesn't want me to hold her. Her mother, scorned by a car crash, ...

Oh, how I love introcet weatherAnd introspective little pondsA school of thought perhaps?Or maybe a changeof dire spit fire routineIt burns my senses dryI'm now lying on my backThe head ...