You can run a million miles but you can never run from crossroads.
Big God shoves us through anyway- out from a random route into another; like we are slipped wailing through a bloody vagina into the naughty truths of living.
pale as the white breeze, the eye cannot maketh its crease, the trough, the zennith, the power...it speaks...it reeks...Oh! how it piques my curiosity! how it delves into the nebulous truth of reality, how it