Sure, my maternal presence is walking me down the planets weariness to alert my walls of childhood under the broom of flesh, to meet the absent part of me beneath the who that follows this air.
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
Sure, my maternal presence is walking me down the planets weariness to alert my walls of childhood under the broom of flesh, to meet the absent part of me beneath the who that follows this air.