| Silent night is nigh
the awkward protruding of someone’s sick bed, the horse in the brain, grey where eels slither. Where did you see the river? Was it in your hand? My love, my darkness is my mouth filled with water. |
 |
| Silent night is nigh
the awkward protruding of someone’s sick bed, the horse in the brain, grey where eels slither. Where did you see the river? Was it in your hand? My love, my darkness is my mouth filled with water. |
|