Knock knock.

Is love for the young? Does it change like the sense thats dispensed on my tongue? Is love like mushrooms, salmon or sprouts? Its not about withstanding just the imagines of without? Is it exciting but after enough we get bored? From Life and death? T...

I'm sat on the number 12A bus. The golden hour sheem streams clean into my eyes. The ball of magma split into the pit of my stomach bubbles up my oesophagus and yurns to erupt out my throat.