around my brain and squeezing tightly is the image of your stained smile peeking into the dazzling noonday sun. is the diatribe I launched into, too bent on feeding you a ray of sunshine, rather than let you beam me yours.
This started out as a journal of heartache and Westward expansion, but as time goes by, it is becoming a little backyard in which I experiment with an old and disreputable hobby: poetry. Most people's poetry is horrible and I am no exception; thus, the anonymity.
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