Feb 27, 2021
I poor my heart out too you. I Kant tell you how much thyme I dream of hour future together. I no we wood be grate, if I could only Cher my life with you.
Written by Pulpo Viejo
Apathetic alcoholic diabetic old man on a motorized pin-striped skateboard. Member since as long as I remember. Top writer in something once. I don't remember.