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Dumplings are good like hot cross buns and red poles beacuse they smell like pillows. They come in many different shapes like pencil, plant, and windowsills
By Kevin on 03.08.2015
Soon the disaster happened, and the buildings were ruined, and people ran to the market place to get all the goods to live their lives. People in the city never did such things. They only did it because they did not have any food to eat. While people were taking the goods, some people ran around the streets of the market and screamed because they became crazy.
By Eric Lee on 03.08.2015
What is life
By Your mum on 03.08.2015
What is life.
goods are items that we like to have/need like woods and metals to build things with some things are not renewable and we need to take care of them.
By Kurt on 03.08.2015
What is goods, goods is what, I like goods because they are yaaaa
goods will not make you happy
your decisions will
live at your own pace
scribble past, brain sells
By too stable URL on 03.08.2015
The merchants’ goods were gilded and golden, but all saw them in a majestic light. They wore rose-tinted glasses, everyone, strolling the market of plastic finery.
By Riannon URL on 03.08.2015
I wish I could see it. I wish I could understand what everone is talking about. But I don’t. I don’t see the good in anyone. Not anymore. There was a time when I did see the good things in life but those times are over now. To bad. Or maybe not. I just have to live on. Cause life goes on, no matter what.
By Sanna on 03.08.2015
Brazil people news good time stay believe amazing grute happy soft hardware software listen smart
By André on 03.08.2015
He thinks of her like a whirlwind hiding the goods in layers of storm and somewhere in the eye, there’s a calm place where the cache is located.
I look into the eye and I see a small heart locked up in a ramshackle house that is always on the verge of being lost to the forces outside.
By Intuition URL on 03.08.2015
She’s got the goods, and I’m buying.
But the goods aren’t for sale.
Maybe not ever.
But, I’m fine with waiting for now.
By Iceman on 03.08.2015
Hold ’em tight, squelching in your hands
like yesterday, your boots
carrying her in up that white virgin dress
caught lace all through your fingers
your fingers wound around her, stuck inside her
she’s breathing, breathy
awake with those eyes
that make you kill for another day where
there’s nothing but trees as your canopy witness
By Saudade URL on 03.08.2015
He’s bashing out sparks that soar up like his heart
come again, again
there’s a sword out on the mortar, a silver slicing witchy blade
to take him to war, mercenary boy
the blood running in him that begs for more
the silver sticky red
Popped down on top, screwed shut with the air hissing in and staying they, winding around her in the glass jar, her very own genie box, her suffocating, drowning in these close up clear walls – but oh
she could breathe,
and so she breathed,
and snuggles herself against the smooth cylinder wall,
and smiled her isolation away
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.