Jumbles of Normals and their phallic intutions

I no longer speak in the rhythm's of madness. I sow the fabric of truth. I make messes that I cannot clean up, I shed the shackles of this zoo.

Sydney's calling, and I can't answer the phone.

We met miles away from shore, in that old wooden raft. Where we soon shed our splinters and focused on the task. with doom curling around us, we planned to make our mistakes, while we pulled at the ocean, we attempted to make our escapes. Sunshine sure can be a killer on a cold winter day.

The knock on the door tells me that we're alone.