IRC-Galleria

shut the fuck up my sugar
shoveling shattered spectrals of snow
and shit happens, all over the spaces in these places of a shapeles palace

there is no spoon

mind is like a sponge and so do nerves fail
the existence of the last exile is an example of an emigration of the entire population
mass destruction
to kill to kill to kill to kill
is my dearest wish for the mythborn illusion
an unsavory whisper heard substantial times grows long and weak
wonders float in the air, of what if a lower jawbone would fall from the sky
and crush a lonely roamers skull into million peaces
form dunes of dust and rivers of rivals
cover the oncoming footprints of blood

stay still

walk backwards