The empty space that traces our longing,
For a place of our own belonging.
The wisp across the sky that clouds sigh,
Shakes an echo of a lullabye.
As years pass with scant debris of day,
Wonder at all the dreams gone away.
If only I would connect my youth,
To these hallowed wakes of truth.
(Too much Moby can do this to you;)
The empty space that traces our longing,
For a place of our own belonging.
The wisp across the sky that clouds sigh,
Shakes an echo of a lullabye.
As years pass with scant debris of day,
Wonder at all the dreams gone away.
If only I would connect my youth,
To these hallowed wakes of truth.
(Too much Moby can do this to you;)
don’t let one dopey boy ruin lipstick for you. lipstick isn’t makeup. it’s an accessory.
and yummy.
you eat lipstick? ew.
they’re better than crayons.