A Story, an idea.A cold night, accompanied by a freezing wind. The forest was dead silent all around him as he walked. The crunch of dead leaves under his boots were the only thing that he heard. It was winter here in this part of the world. The cold he was accustom to. The loneliness, the fact of being alone, with no one beside him, he was not used to. He pulled up his hood closer to his face to shield it from the bitter cold and pressed on. A few minutes of walking, later he thought he heard a trace of noise.A Story, an idea.
"No, it's just the wind. Or my eyes are playing tricks on me." He thought to himself. However, he was wrong.
Bursts o
x
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I love the smell of napalm in the morning... failing that, croissants and a latte...
Donkey Lovers can kiss my Ass...
12 out of 10 people agree, 2 out of 10 people are schizophrenic...
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Beneath the tides of wisdom, spins the undertow of hate.
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Practicing is definitely harder than preaching.
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More, more, more!!
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Beneath the tides of wisdom, spins the undertow of hate.
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Live
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▌║││║█║▌│║│█║▌█│║▌▌║│││
B202112846101683666LETHAL
--
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬,.oO°'*+*'°Oo.,▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
la ligne droite conduit à la perte de l'humanité...
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That's it! My department's going to lunch.
"Live every week like it's Shark Week."
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