grahampronk.blogspot.com
TUMBLEWEED MEMORIES: Love Didn't Leave You
http://grahampronk.blogspot.com/2015/06/love-didn-leave-you.html
Because Someday, We'll All Be Food For Worms. Saturday, 27 June 2015. Love Didnt Leave You. All those things you told yourself you'd. Never do are here. I never questioned the legitimacy of. Your claims - just to be clear. All those times you doubted your own. Existence were just an illusion. Blacking out reality cracks. Love didn't leave you. Even when you thought it would. Love didn't leave you. When it didn't look good. That bit bears repeating:. Love didn't leave you. Even when you thought it would.
grahampronk.blogspot.com
TUMBLEWEED MEMORIES: February 2015
http://grahampronk.blogspot.com/2015_02_01_archive.html
Because Someday, We'll All Be Food For Worms. Saturday, 21 February 2015. My wit with a pen. Is the me that could do. Now left is the husk. Of a man who once flew. Then I was not. The internet didn't break. No one gave a jot. So I was away. It seems I am back. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Would You Miss The Blog If It DIED. The Truth (like a bullet). The World's Greatest Mountain. It's Not Super and It's Not Right. The Blog of Roj. It's All About the Buttons. 12 in the shade. 2012 itll soon be over. Belat...
grahampronk.blogspot.com
TUMBLEWEED MEMORIES: May 2015
http://grahampronk.blogspot.com/2015_05_01_archive.html
Because Someday, We'll All Be Food For Worms. Friday, 15 May 2015. She moves her eyes. And I move too. I only ever think of her. She's all the things. I have to dream. And all the world is. And all the world is. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Would You Miss The Blog If It DIED. The Truth (like a bullet). The World's Greatest Mountain. It's Not Super and It's Not Right. The Blog of Roj. It's All About the Buttons. 12 in the shade. 2012 itll soon be over. 2012 its all a bit meh. 2012 its all a bit presumptuous.
grahampronk.blogspot.com
TUMBLEWEED MEMORIES: August 2015
http://grahampronk.blogspot.com/2015_08_01_archive.html
Because Someday, We'll All Be Food For Worms. Monday, 3 August 2015. No one writes with purpose and a crayon. No one creates with ideas and a felt pen. No one types with desire and a spell check. And no one uses a quill. Labels: The worst thing to happen to the net since the net. I used to dream big and wide. Of conquering mountains and sending back the tide. Now I'm older and oh so very afraid. And the dreams that i have are of games already played. The terrors that await when I crawl into bed. Any mean...
grahampronk.blogspot.com
TUMBLEWEED MEMORIES: June 2015
http://grahampronk.blogspot.com/2015_06_01_archive.html
Because Someday, We'll All Be Food For Worms. Saturday, 27 June 2015. Love Didnt Leave You. All those things you told yourself you'd. Never do are here. I never questioned the legitimacy of. Your claims - just to be clear. All those times you doubted your own. Existence were just an illusion. Blacking out reality cracks. Love didn't leave you. Even when you thought it would. Love didn't leave you. When it didn't look good. That bit bears repeating:. Love didn't leave you. Even when you thought it would.
grahampronk.blogspot.com
TUMBLEWEED MEMORIES: The Quill
http://grahampronk.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-quill.html
Because Someday, We'll All Be Food For Worms. Monday, 3 August 2015. No one writes with purpose and a crayon. No one creates with ideas and a felt pen. No one types with desire and a spell check. And no one uses a quill. Labels: The worst thing to happen to the net since the net. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Would You Miss The Blog If It DIED. The Truth (like a bullet). The World's Greatest Mountain. It's Not Super and It's Not Right. The Blog of Roj. It's All About the Buttons. 12 in the shade.
grahampronk.blogspot.com
TUMBLEWEED MEMORIES: Too Few Dreams
http://grahampronk.blogspot.com/2015/08/too-few-dreams.html
Because Someday, We'll All Be Food For Worms. Monday, 3 August 2015. I used to dream big and wide. Of conquering mountains and sending back the tide. Now I'm older and oh so very afraid. And the dreams that i have are of games already played. The terrors that await when I crawl into bed. Are of staying in dreams not waking just dead. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Would You Miss The Blog If It DIED. The Truth (like a bullet). The World's Greatest Mountain. It's Not Super and It's Not Right. Balderda...
grahampronk.blogspot.com
TUMBLEWEED MEMORIES: April 2015
http://grahampronk.blogspot.com/2015_04_01_archive.html
Because Someday, We'll All Be Food For Worms. Thursday, 30 April 2015. All my life is a ribbon. Tangled up, moving in circles,. Reaching into days gone,. Coming round to make a knot -. The past that time forgot. All my life is an arrow. Moving in the wind to a target. Honing in on someone. That I always knew existed. I guess it's just I didn't notice. All my life is a movie. Playing in the background. Every night I go to sleep. In a private cinema of my dreams. Now come and steal the scenes. Almost as od...
grahampronk.blogspot.com
TUMBLEWEED MEMORIES: Someday
http://grahampronk.blogspot.com/2015/07/someday.html
Because Someday, We'll All Be Food For Worms. Friday, 3 July 2015. But I'm crashing through. The world in a society. Sailing in the deepest sea. What if the whale that swam. Down the Thames in 2003. Is no more than a. Gimmick some distant billionaire. In the year 2323. He'll be cryogenically frozen, obviously. Not the whale, the billionaire. And I'm not talking Free Willy. And I'm not talking fiction;. I'm not taking Disney. What if the sun came up in. A mandarin you put in a glass. The Blog of Roj.
grahampronk.blogspot.com
TUMBLEWEED MEMORIES: December 2014
http://grahampronk.blogspot.com/2014_12_01_archive.html
Because Someday, We'll All Be Food For Worms. Tuesday, 30 December 2014. Sometimes I see Jupiter. And she doesn't see me. I'm a man floating through space. That I think is infinite. The girl I let go. She's hanging up on. The boy the fool let go. The girl I was with. She's hanging up on. The girl the dude let go. Nothing To No One. Stars pass when we greet. Specially in my nine to five. Where I type notes. Of nothing to no one. The sun is incomplete. Every time I don't see you. And I type notes. We don't...
