The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Druid’s and Thunder Wizard’s Call

Inside my modern walls of white,
Under florescence I sit with eyes so wide,
Like a pawn of some distant game,
So low down I couldn’t complain,
But panic I feel inside my mind,
For escape out to the wild it searches to find,
But time ruled over me I am sure to fall,
Short of this primal call,
For we of the modern heed no song,
From when birds gave directions even if wrong,
When great gifts were given up for the earth to fell something back,
A sentient guilt filled emotion sack,
For though terror was a vehicle to be displayed,
Think of what went from their angle in play,
Giving up today what tomorrow could give plenty,
Unfortunately when panic gripped a human they believed gods envy,
The life force back but never it saved,
A testament to the human mentality being raised,


Then the modern lords of the storms fall,
Should heed the old trinities call,
For spirit gives motion to all that is fun,
Yet mind steers the ship to what needs done,
And still passion is the goal the ship sails for in sum,
All are needed for great men’s actions to be run,

So see the actions from Odin’s spirit,
Heed the mind of Thor inside it,
And let Freyr’s passion give you courage,
To take on the day to day with all its mirage,
For let any opposition feel your strength,
Like the Irish trinity and their rank,
So Dagda’s spirit gives you an endless well,
Ogma gives you writing and learning to dwell,
And Lugh lord of craftiness and passion will be you,
No matter what calamity comes to pierce through,
Built on the best things that make men free,
You will be the intertied comb of the Morrigan’s bee,
The great weaved net of Ran,
The Norn’s web of reality held together most grand,
So even as destiny gives you breathe,
You remember that you are finite a soon to be death,


Then life is beauty like none could know,
Yet every day before their eyes the scenes are shown,
Like lost ants we scramble out to the mountain tops,
Where the wild and wyrd flow right through us,
Fool’s called the action unmanly during horrors reign,
Yet our ancestors were threatened and so into the waters they were shamed,
And killed for being what nature always asked for,
A thought to consider her part of our life force,



For the Morrigan gives you how we steer,
On modern thought connected to Morrigan Le fay it is unclear,
In Arthur she is made to be a demon,
A force that temps and then does him in,
Yet this is patriarchy acting without calling the man’s faults,
For with the Lady he laid of his own need to under waltz,
His male drive leading him to primal insight,
The experiential queen took revenge on his mind,
And when he had risen to the top,
Well Mordred stood to make his reign stop,
A problem he himself did start,
Yet it shows in leaders we do not make them smart,
Until matured to the ways games impart tactics,
Yet funny their culture made nature a villainous faction,
Yet shows how unlearned being in a church box makes us,
The problem of all belief with no experience makes a tease to so called lust,
Yet ironically the bastards obsess while repressing it,


For a balance should be heard from these great Dukes of the past,
When the skalds and the fili’s sang out with bards at their grasp,
When always men who are mystics have been held down by those,
Who barely dip their toe as into the deep they can’t go,
Then we will forever be the alchemist outside,
The Isis of nature our beautiful bride,
One who gives everything yet takes our bodies inside,
Her beauty shining through the darkness of death,
Yet irony to the modern a skeleton is her other half,


Like ladies of the mead cup being hidden away,
With our heads laying down and intoxication in sway,
To my lips I raise the horn,
With sips I’ll be reborn,
Like heroes of old,
I’ll make my mold,
Merlin’s gift will be my shield,
A sword in which I only wield,
To the likes of Oscar, Oisin, and Bragi I will become,
The poet sitting under sun,
The breath of speech,
My ladies of muse give me reach,
My hour done I hope they beseech,
The gift of Emain and Avalon’s gates,
Immortality given with silver staff raised,
Though no magic paradise just an imprint of I at end phase,
As I risked what they did on the fairy mounds daze,
As the feeling takes hold hearing the starting calls of the hounds,
Where the dead give voice and the hounds let out howl,
Is the point of dread with dead I find the owl,
Great teacher of knowledge she smiles out bright,
Tied to the runes and magic of subcultural might,
The ladies who like great mothers gave the world voice,
As through the trees their herald brings choice,
The dis and fylgja sing your heart to action,
The inter connections of your web require your impaction,
Let the song of Untamed sing my Fox spirit connection,


For though smart enough to understand that sacrificing men,
It is not the game of the wild or a way to win,
Then Bran and Arthur need not die in caves of mountains deep,
And wicker men no long blaze in nights so disdained in steep,
Then why did we forget the beauty of the groves,
The entire idea of why they sacrificed in the stoves,
For we only need to wonder back into the light,
Sitting in a mountain valley we tuck up for the night,
The stars around and fire growls as twinkling specks of sight,
And in the silence with only us we feel the pull inside,


We are the hunters the walkers in the wild,
We are the wild men no longer let outside,
We are the metaphors of Tom Sawyer’s and Merlin’s,
We are the wilderness breathing life back in,
For as I sit in my special glen where no one barely goes,
The creek bounces off the rocks and the spirit seems to flow,
And I sit back to the side as fungi greet my eyes,
For in gulches like these are where tears fell from our ancestors tries,
And a calling to give back the guardianship of what was meant from strife,
The sanity given back into the mind of sacrifice,
For now we wander out into the trees,

But each outing we hear more in the breeze,
Realizing our place is not in a box of manly needs,
Like the druids take silver branch to Manannan’s creed,
Like the Thunder Wizards hang for Odin’s fate,

And then you’ll see her the maiden of the mead,
The reason for great poets,
The reason I wish to keep apiaries,
The maiden who after great turmoil through dead halls,
Sits inside the otherworld waiting to be called,
By the man who tries to be more than himself,
The man who through even death he seeks others health,
And by bringing back wisdom hides the gift like the volva sang,
For this gifts secret was to be lost as Odin in spirit could not contain,
And the passion of Freyr gave up his sword his great rage,
As passions love finds bed only with threat not creating cage,
And Thor in mind will die as the serpent of knowing is challenged,
The end a given weeping for poor lovely Sif,
For Thor knew his duty and still wrestles death,
Even in halls not of his father’s breath,


And as Bres was beat by glowing Lugh,
So we must find truth,
That oppression is not worth efficiency in long,
A truth poor Nuada died from Balor on,
As drought beat rain inside the game,
And the heroes have to rally past shame,
And a beaten Bres is lying to save his own skin,
Saying that forever super production can win,
Our passion Lugh smashes his lies with his spear,
Something that won’t tolerate cruelty, lies, or sneers,
Or the falsehoods of leaders who terrorize the common,
As Lugh was to become the hero of the Tuatha Dé Danann,



So may I be a man to reach to the mounds,
Where sea eagles ate my ancestors and where spirit is found,
To the mountains where the meadows crown,
Our mistress of the wild sounds,
Where entry seems to remain,
To Avalon or the great Emain,
And as I sacrifice doubled vision,
By giving physical initiation,
I will sit in the pose,
The one Freya taught and the Morrigan chose,
With silver branch in my hand I will walk to go,
Where few are allowed and only the wise chose to know,
To the gates of Tech Duinn to the hall of Donn where all men will be shown,
Past the Bull rock into the earth you will flow,
And as the darkness comes to claim,
Whisper love to balanced ladies of Emain,
The Lady of the Lake and The Lady of the Fay play their chess to compete,
And Lugh if champion brings back the seed,
So all men can know when to plant and be freed,
And the balance of our favorite Brìgid,
Cannot be the soul mentality made rigid,
She needs her balance a lady we threw out with spurn,
Stabbed with spears and tried to burn,
Cailleach may scare me and you,
But a fair rule for all worlds like Freyja balanced by Jord in poem known as She-Wolf,
One needs the other or else each other they would consume,
And all men would fall to ruin,
The fianna’s call rings in my ears,
Perchta’s groups put on masks to counter fear,
And the rays of Aine also named Sol gave us the word for what is inside our hearts,
The Soul given beauty from Flidias’s fruit,
From the Auroch's dung the first poems came to root,
Something I ponder on but I grip like fog,
And hope that my action my poetry will imprint me in Tír na nÓg…


Sean Stutzman

Lessons of the Greats Before

Low I Odin did swing on the great ash tree,
As the Norn’s around chuckled at me,
I hung until the blood swam in my head,
And the thought of 9 days makes you think you’ll be dead,
My body did swing as I looked down below,
On the ground where the roots show,



Low I am the Yogi who contemplates Mt. Meru at the seams,
As Kali grips and Vishnu dreams,
I give great ascetic sacrifice,
And the thought of 7 Shesha comes to mind makes you think of Shiva unrefined,
I look to the pillar of unending size,
Realizing that thought is a play I’m inside,



Low I Merlin did walk out into the woods,
As the Morrigan crowed out where the old tree stood,
Alone I sat then and had to hunt so soon,
And the thought of 9 years in solitude makes you think I’m a loon,
My body did sit under the tree,
Until the tree stood up to dance for me,




Low I Imhotep did sit inside a temple,
As Isis and Nephthys guarded my ritual body ample,
With incense burning my mind lets go,
And the thought of 9 in symbolled ankh makes you think I resurrect from low,
Wadjet brought me to stare at the walls of old,
As the pictures move and the story takes hold,




Low I Zarathustra went out to the hills,
As Ahura shines down his blessings and takes away ills,
The lonely moment sings me glories,
And the thought of 7 six helpers and one great god makes you think of happy stories,
As my perception gives targets anew,
I order the world into good and bad too,




Low I am Aeschines who did Sabazios’ rites,
As the horseman inside to serpent I did fight,
With ecstasy reaching its highest height in ritual,
And the thought of 8 from the bronze hands might make you think I am infinitely whole,
As the drums ring inside me,
Am I still only just me,



Low I am Fintan who did wait for the fish,
As the Morrigan makes me wait for my dish,
With booming mind I create the invasions stories,
And the thought of 7 from the years might make you think I am of older root,
As the visions ensue I feel madness,
But after bring back wisdom in grandness,


Low I am Orpheus descending to hades after long sail,
As the guard dogs of Hades give rise to my tale,
With poems beautiful I tell of the doomed in omega,
And the thought of 7 speaks of my harp might make you think harmonia,
As the quest takes me to the edge,
I know who and what I really am,


Low I am Christ hanging on the cross,
As the legionnaire stabs me I sigh with great loss,
With blood trickling down to where grows fungi clear,
And the thought of 12 speaks of my disciples might make you think of the months of the year,
As the curtain rips in the great temple,
I bring religion back to of the people,





Low I am Itzamna old man of the boundaries,
Where I take men to animal forms like metal in foundries,
My eyes dazed in trance do look to the horizon,
And the thought of 3 speaks of times gone makes you think of lost eras denizens,
As the trance drum beats into my ears,
I lose all concept of primal fear,






Low I’m Lao Tzu as I journey west,
Where I argue tao as like a jester makes jests,
My words echo truth from natural flow gained,
And the thought of 8 sets of universal frames makes you think of 64 pairs in your brain,
As thought becomes only a vehicle to breathe,
Like a human being trying to find life concept esteem,


Low I’m Siddhartha as I realize my trap,
From emotions of entanglement I make my personhood map,
My words say there is a place to obtain in thought,
And the thought of 9 virtues so strong makes you think of nirvana and what was sought,
As contemplation becomes my tool to perceive,
I find my way back to be universally freed,


Low I am Medea of the old goddess,
When hero appears he will make all a mess,
The marriage the start of my beliefs enslaved,
And the thought of 3 brings up my children makes you think only 1 of them lived,
As new heroes kicked out the old heroes help,
A punishment for breaking an era’s time belt,






Low I’m an early hominid as I walk over plains,
As I seek more vision I go into caves,
With thousands more years I will play all those stated above once raised,
But in hindsight will be looked down on for cultural praise,
As food and hunting mixed language and action,
I will build the legacy of following traction,


I am Shaman in all of these forms,
I am Mystic hear my roar,
I am the sorcerer man of outside at my core,
Though I have barely changed over time,
I bring in new ideas in form and kind,
So when the last me falls away,
A new prophet stands to say,
That man will not slip back to ruin,
And will gain the advantage of thought going through it,
But always metaphor and concept my speech,
Should limit my power and what is believed,
But always this breakthrough seems to be received,
On which experiential chaos is a need,
To mimic death and make the seed,
Of restoring life in the being,
So models of afterlife in hindsight sought,
Maybe the common theme tie not,
Of cultures strung so far apart,
Maybe similar towards the start,
And the humans learning in today should see this as an inspiration game,
To find that we are part of the same,
And creating these people with politics instead of prophet named,
Then of course the common people feel the bore,
Of all the pressure brought from before,
Yet in this game they never scored,
And when they did were killed once more,
Like Zeno’s tale make score,
Of how intellect made a stand,
In not one but thousands of lands,
And at the end we still route lies,
Because one answer they say is the only truth,
Like a bad narrator who only can move,
By repeating the same over to you,
Then in the end they are all partial truths,
Leading to the scientist today and what they do,
So question the preacher who says it always was,
Question the historian for his anachronism loves,
Question the skeptic for being skeptic,
Question the moment and what is in it,
And when the questions get to be too much,
Look back at what you’ve learned all of,
And laugh for any man above was just as lost in bacterium,
The thoughts all add to single sum,
That we are just as magnificently and in all spectacular-ness dumb,
Just as lost now as when we were before,
Just fifty as many facts entering our door,
And then we realize we don’t know what’s in store,
Because cultures message doesn’t blind us to overview of all any more…




Sean Stutzman

Lady of the Fabric

Have you tried to find her name?
In every country she is the same,
For nothing but the entirety,
Is in that title in which to see,
With weaving looms and distaffs she always was truth,
That the sibyls would sing of in every one of the sooths,
The lady who grouped the hunters in large,
To politics origin and societal stars,
Yet our ancestors had trouble with this wisdom,
As why our after stories blame woman there in,

For best preserved tale is mighty Gullveig,
The archetype witch from the start of the play,
The great lady of seidr who all gods fear,
As before them she was and her power unclear,
For as with the Norn’s she was primal,
The ideas of her only being found in festival,
For as she gave the gift of craftiness,
They questioned if bonds it would break in home nests,
The togetherness of the god’s was challenged by her perception,
Something that was intended from her giving direction,
For they thought she could change their very minds,
Just by acting in certain ways and kind,
That made the societal lines blurred with contraries,
And Odin in his rush to keep inside his boundaries,
Burned her three times and killed her dead,
Yet beyond him she was manifested,
Coming back she cursed his folly,
In England the same happened with the king Arthur or his predecessor of holly,
Saying that from his actions lead to the ending,
Later learning the runes he heard his own damning,
That because his choices from when he was young,
Were rash and ill-founded by what had been sung,
Even with him causing the first war he was too young and dumb,
To know he would undo himself when all is done,

For problems of vengeance and nemesis are built when you’re young,
When your attitudes brash and trouble comes controlling your tongue,
And Odin built the problems if we find Loki eats her heart,
Although conflict legends are inside that part,
A fruit which I claim to be the mother’s fruit,
Maybe because it makes sense to the experience I have been through,
Something Loki plays the bad guy in route,
Of what the Norn’s fabricated in the beginning dew,
Carving in to the fabric so none could undo,
That the primal nature of man that which is of the wild becomes the doom,
As we forget that we have come from there all too soon,

For all the giants are representing natural force,
Even why they have to help the god’s by choice,
Like when Thor needed Grid they wouldn’t survive without them,
A fact that the female Giantess’s have the meads with which bring god send,
And points to idea that the chieftains of long ago woefully accepted her bow,

The vehicle that Odin hung nine days for,
That he wooed the Giantess in the mountains deep for,
That he drilled and risked his very life,
Against her father’s powerful natural pride,
Gaining the mead of poetry that only had been around,
When Gullveig brought it or when Kvasir was found,
That sang poets to heights that was unattainable by all,
And you realize that from nature and wyrd come these calls,
To the primal song from the world mother,
The source outside of humans a force of the other,
For if Asgard is the idea of human regulation,
And Odin is spirit in constant contemplation,
Alfenheim the seat of the natural god’s and forces,
Who from catalysts vehicle for divinity were riding hogs and horses,
The Giants were the terrifying force of the outside,
Why the witch goddesses seem to be on both sides,
Matched to the thought Midgard and Asgard are in human bounds,
Then the Vanaheim and the Jotuns are the wildness around,
So from this outside the kings were wary,
For the ladies of galdr had power beyond any,
These witches could steer the world to order,
Even though for their wisdom they were at nature’s border,

Yet this matches Ma’at and Demeter and Hecate too,
The women of the early age traveled and gave us truths,
That heroes would base there real life journeys too,
An action that meant they needed the witches is proof,
And that this was why all the meeting places match their power too,

For isn’t late Athens funny in such great irony,
As they banned women from their company,
Yet who was the lady that got honored always first,
Even sharing myth to Roman’s who gave Hestia her dues,
Who was the being of law and justice?
Mighty Zeus or Jupiter in all his auspiciousness?
No for they all are the primal mothers,
Females control all that was,
A thought with Rhea makes you understand,
Females gave us freedom from the bondage of powerful men,

For often we forget to hear,
That she hid Zeus away clear,
That she was the changing force that made the god’s overthrow the Titans,
By being the sentimental mother to care for her kids,
The next age of god’s came to begin,
Something Mother Mary did for new sin,
That the masculine forcing of religion did send,
Then no wonder the men tried to hide women away,
Because the kings realized how much control they can sway,
For theirs is a bond of love that cannot be severed,
Though Middle Eastern disruption made her an evil queen of heaven,

Yet forgot that once Yahweh married her with blissful lyre,
Then cast her out when influence could come from rival sire,
Funny that her trees were the gift that could have helped the west stay sane,
And instead they took up Alcohol and then Dionysus became her bane,
So then even pagans made her rites have male face,
Funny when Apollo takes over Gaia’s home for myth to track the chase,
And then Pan the male to marry for her becomes more of a figure,
As the rites of her initiation become more and more obscure,
Becoming the entire identity to the idea of nature,
Something that was always feminine even with Artemis holding place,
And showing that male religions had taken a domineering face,
Something understandable as war became life’s function,
Too sad we pushed more to kings at this juncture,
And the ideas of fertility no longer had heroes making journeys,
For the cults were the last strongholds of her gift,
The places the Christians converted demolished claiming sin,

Yet if only their heads could have been turned to see,
What in the myths of their rivals preserved in theme,
They were the next Odin’s burning Gullveig just with new skin,
And for this reason they had created Baldr to die for all to weep,
Yet without meaning to in doing birthed the new Loki’s in there sweep,
For yes Loki is simplistic in view,
Topically in flyting,
Yet he is the Jotun force left still in our mentality called Asgard,
The force that will undo the world at large,
Yet Odin and all play out what is fate,
For the primal females knew of the date,
That Odin would try so hard to be past Ragnarok,

That without meaning he would create his problem from within,
Loki when coming in the time of the god’s is nothing but irritating corrective sin,
But when the god’s have left all of nature to fend for itself,
Took all Idduns apples and drank deep the meads,
Had put everything into only human beings,
That primal man in us all becomes the greatest bane to the gods,
A warning that should scare us,
As we deal with religious extremists,
For the Norse’s warning system should make us recall,
To a scary idea of when society falls,
That because the giants always lose up to the end day,
That maybe in the myths a warning was hid in this way,

Matched to the Irish with the Formorian’s gives Badb’s warning,
For the great lady has much better words then I,
When she speaks of a time when the world entirely wants to cry:

I shall not see a world that will be dear to me.
Summer without flowers,
Kine will be without milk,
Women without modesty,
Men without valour,
Captures without a king.
... ... ...
Woods without mast,
Sea without produce,
... ... ...
Wrong judgments of old men,
False precedents of brehons,
Every man a betrayer,
Every boy a reaver.
Son will enter his father's bed,
Father will enter his son's bed,
Everyone will be his brother's brother-in-law.
... ... ...
An evil time!
Son will deceive his father,
Daughter will deceive her mother.





We sit inside the trap we set,
A cushy plastic fast holding net,
The ending speaking our Freudian web,
That says inside the mind subconscious gives revolting bed,
That means we’ve all been put into being,
The bane of all the nine worlds in meaning,
The old blaming the changing ideas of the youth,
False words from prophets at our cultural sooth,
Money making us all betrayers,
And ambition making the young reavers,
We turn on computers and see those enter beds,
That are unimaginable in real life heads,
Then a horror show of the primal is what we have,
Even if polished up by medicines and baths,
The build up to the Norn’s setting Loki and Fenrir free,
An idea matched to Global Warming,
For once resource becomes strain in the halls of the gods,
Then the challenges of the wild will come back a hundred strong,
And poor Freyr trying to give us food,
Will fight the fire giant that used to rule and consume,

As they both die the Amazon comes to my mind,
And as the world comes back from great conflict,
The new man and woman now sit,
With survival all that governs them,
Inside what has always been the natural glen,
Underneath the great ash from where we began,
Where Gullveig’s bounty grows,
Where only heroes dare to go,
To heal the world and save its soul,
From the violence and primal nature man unfurled,
And as the god’s are built again she will be burnt anew again,
For she has seen this pattern before,
To histories we have no context for,
And again she will give us through reaching down to pick the root,
For our societal dance to again reboot…


Sean Stutzman

You will find me in The Fields

You will find me in the hills,
You will find me in the tills,
You will find me as you plow,
You will find me in milking sows,

You will find me in lands of plenty,
You will find me in lands of many,
You will find me when times are hard,
You will find me in times with bards,

You will find me in the light,
You will find me gleam at night,
You will find me in the ground,
You will find me though I am bound,

You will find me in many forms,
You will find me in growing corn,

You will find me in what is called nothing,
You will know I am everything,
You will find me in rocks,
You will find me in a pox,
You will find me trees,
You will find me with the bees,
You will find me in river beds,
You will find me inside people’s heads,

You will find me in all filth,
You will find me blossom even in silt,
You will find me in beauty,
You will find me in living,
You will find me in death,
Do you know me as of yet?

You will find me in every piece of every man killed,
You will find me in the fields,
When the body rots we all break down,
To chemicals making up the ground,
A thought that tied together makes profound,

It is what Freya and Demeter did sing,
But with less Science to make concept ring,
To say as the flesh leaves our bones,
We break back down into dirt and stone,
Melting back into the core,
Erupting out again once more,
Our layer just another tale,
Of the crust eating away at memory fail,
As millions of years go rushing past,
To ages of slimes that didn’t last,
Except in present form and phase,
To our body being given praise,


For each year as the bodies break down,
The earth starts to proliferate and abound,
The balance of kingdom animal to plant,
The fungi and bacteria help with that,
One to one body cells to bacteria,
Sing the new age hysteria,
That we are as much the environment as ourselves,
Individual triumphs of mating bells,
Something sage of old had found,
Yet construed to terror with no microscope around,
For the cycle will continue on and on,
The earth just a note in the entire song,

So do you know me as of yet?
Easy answer said the philosopher of Theosophy what but god comes next,
Not god but matter I said so he sat perplexed…


Sean Stutzman

COMMENTS

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XLittleAkiX
04:28 Jul 14 2017

HOLY BLACK SHINY CROWS!!!!!! *shy excited clap* THATS AMAZING!!!!!! I LOVE YOUR WORK!!!!!!!!!

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POST COMMENT

The Gateway without a Gate

I have spoken of things that are in mind,
I have spoken of things that are behind,
But yet the now is ever more elusive,

For though I dig through thought on thought,
The empty bowl is where the enlightened found drought,
Yet it is were truth sat all along,

If I try to direct the river into channels of my vigor,
Am I any better than the flow just of a slower shiver,
Yet timing is a means to everything,

For doing nothing breaks us down but makes us rounded,
Yet doing everything keeps us versatile yet confounded,
Are we any more found than any other man before us?

For the path I have walked down of mystics and ideas profound,
Means nothing without the catalysts sound,
So a path only few can walk to,

For if genius before me sang my song of battle charge,
Then no difference will I make to the world at large,
The stone Buddha I sit laughing at the absurdity,



But active if I move my feet then the bodhisattva ignites in me,
Yet tied to a world I will never be completely free,
What paradox can I next stand to climb onto?

But eyes see me as a normal man,
Something as a mystic you cannot stand,
Yet even in our own logic you are just that the paradox begins to consume me,

And if I sit inside my head,
A lingering begins to the point of being dead,
Am I only trying to justify my thoughts?

For would ashrams exist now without money?
Would churches still meet in the woods?
Like the meeting points of our ancestors so misunderstood,

I dare say modern mind has lost this touch,
Something beautiful as food is in our clutch,
Yet ugly as no longer can there be communal crutch,

As morals have set in a condescending hush,
For speaking is more a direct push,
Yet all we say is topical to the reality in front of us,

For we are all the actors and poets,
Playing out the game before us,
Using poetries to explain our lives,

Of course poetry never accurately supply’s,
The framing of reality instead it picks beautiful lies,
That make the frames orchestrated to our mind,

I guess the point of wisdom is the glimmer of truth in all the layers of lies,
Something that holds no allegiance to dogmatic eyes…


Sean Stutzman

COMMENTS

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XLittleAkiX
04:45 Jul 14 2017

Wow D: I can't even begin to describe... *cries* these poems there so amazing!

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