L lizor_08 New Member 29 Mayo 2008 57 0 0 12 Mayo 2009 #1 ...the pictures are torn, screaming nights where light shone. Happiness worn, in her closed pot home. A trowel of time turned, and patted thick, a sandy heart burned. "Love the flick?" Like rain mounting high, we drip, drop and dry.
...the pictures are torn, screaming nights where light shone. Happiness worn, in her closed pot home. A trowel of time turned, and patted thick, a sandy heart burned. "Love the flick?" Like rain mounting high, we drip, drop and dry.
