Tracks

You look like you might enjoy men with twisted mustaches that hangout by rail tracks.

I just wish it were fancy again.

A truly more savage Christ!

Dumped out stamps.

Watering down the kingdom.

Burning my way-fare blight.

In a trudge of aesthetic post’s about your pets & makeup tips.

Oof!

So I shook the muddy crystal to melt as summer was pressed to the land with a kiss.

Through swollen pupils & sweat filled brow, I awaiting remedy from a prick self ministered.

That papal seat on the rails where a new rose thorn grew between the main line register.

The same color crimson but now they both lay flush.

Alone the flower bent under foot stands back up morning my rigs final resting place.