южное_бутово_бит

What was once this morning full of excited Anticipation for is now behind us. Fear, uncertainty, Disappointment. We our own special. How Could You possibly feel that you mean it? Like a thousand tiny voices whispering, "This who you are." And you fight the pressure, The growing need rising like a wave, Prickling and teasing and prodding to be fed. But the whispering gets louder Until it's screaming, "Now!" And it's the Only Voice You hear. The only want to hear. To to this shadow self.