Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
Monday, 21 November 2016
A divorcees prayer
You will hate me when this is over But not as much as I will hate you Yet I will hate you with affection While you will hate me with spite Because you really hate yourself For once loving me Any chance of a shag?
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