One hundred five. One hundred four.
Is that paint or blood splattered upon your floor?
My love has floated to the clouds, upon which I saw three.
And then none. Oh, woe is me!
And wanted so much more, but never captured.
I should like to float up to those clouds,
to see if I could find my love.
But it's long gone, and so I should be.

From now on I will only be posting my writing in here ... stories or poetry. Or maybe nothing at all. I've not made up my mind.

So basically -

FUCK YOU LIVEJOURNAL!
& FUCK YOU TOO!

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