(Untitled)

[obscured]

leaning against door frames and that little gap where the light peeks in wondering if you can still hear me. the tiles in the room were hospital green, and my coffee tasted like nausea, and my bright red shoulders were cold. but back to the walls. not using my fingertips but my knuckles, pulling along the stucco and it makes a little sound like

Comments

[manoliisfat]

Oh em gee that's one of my favorite Fog songs.

WE'RE GOATS WE'LL EAT TIN CANS!