125 more words
I’ve swum in the tumultuous waters
of despair – with my head below the
covering waters and my hands clutching at straws
I’ve walked through the burning…
Tags » All That Glitters Is Not Gold.
As Sebastian sat huddled in the bus shelter, drowning his sorrows in a bottle of Campari, hiding from marauding Mogwashian Mimers; Moonchild Etherington-Smythe was conversing with her ironing board and was expressing ironing boardness onto canvas. 280 more words