| These are my photos enjoy |


LIFE GROWS OLDI see myself in the future. I will become old and withered. I am cracked like a tree.LIFE GROWS OLD
Bark falling off, all my leaves have dispersed from my gnarled branches. Except from one fragile brown leaf hanging precariously on my branch.
The wind blowing it gently every which way. Until the wind pulls it off and it crumbles into dust.
I see myself sitting festering on an old wicker chair.
My old sand paper hands that are twisted and gnarled are crossed on my lap.
I am fixated on one picture of myself young and hopeful.
I regret the past and fea
| These are my photos enjoy |
--
Bah Bah Black Antelopes.
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"We are blind and live in our blind lives out of blindness, Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels."
-William Carlos Williams
--
"We are blind and live in our blind lives out of blindness, Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels."
-William Carlos Williams
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~Member of OneCentCoin~
NOT.LUPUS!
Symmetrical. S-Y-M-M-E-T-R-I-C-A-L! Do ya understand?
I LOST THE GAME
...wait
Now YOU lost The Game!
--
"We are blind and live in our blind lives out of blindness, Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels."
-William Carlos Williams
--
The women is perfected.
Her dead body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.
--
"We are blind and live in our blind lives out of blindness, Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels."
-William Carlos Williams
How are you?
--
The women is perfected.
Her dead body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.
--
"We are blind and live in our blind lives out of blindness, Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels."
-William Carlos Williams
--
The women is perfected.
Her dead body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.
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