Tim Barrus: The Night Descended

I don’t really read anything. I look for patterns. Colors speak to me. I beg 4 forgiveness. Cloaks. Daggers. Fast food. Eloquence. Reconciliation’s recompense 4 my demon wickedness. Wrong motel. The moon itself remains dangerous. I need some of those black garbage bags. The uneducated do not have toothpast like…