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A postpubescent, burly cowboy. Blood-stained hats, whips, and rifles adorned the integument belt that wrapped around his steely waist. Hunting down any bushrangers who defile the neighborhood. The blood spilled on the calescent sand was a taciturn witness to the gunfights that ensued, inducing him to be a hunky-dory man in a less-than-stellar city.
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A sneer sumptuous his physiognomy that was wreathed with pristine claret. A paramour of decease who had a yen for concord from all and sundry. The amorous entanglement of sand dunes eradication, his amour immortalized in every shot that impales the heart of the oppugnant, the intact love letter from the rhymist.
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People rehearse him as a pertinacious cowboy, dyed-in-the-wool and incorruptible, a man of his word and one who ministers thoroughly about others and ministers about his kindsfolk and bosom buddies. He will never renege on his covenant as a mensch. The mediocre cowboy who was coerced to relinquish his wooer in an attempt to retain the conciliation of the borough.
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The Pain Killer, Finnstone Hjorth-Beilschmidt.
Telegram
Fourthocad.
Half r&b, HALFDIARY. Whispered Verses Open Wounds, ๐ฎ๐๏ธ Basslines that Know Your Name Playing Truths I Never #SaidOutLoud, but always felt. ๐
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Anyone who gawks at him in the nick of an eye will twig that he is the proprietress of this city, the sheriff who ministers to the serenity of his city solicitously, the doggedness of a man who ceded his body and soul for the solace of the city. He will do aught to furnish safeguarding to what he mounts guard on.
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The juvenile cowboy trekked the city with effervescent ardor, his strides dexterously passing through the rows of crowded venues he bypassed. A scattering of jocularities that people flung at him revealed to him that the cowboy was down-to-earth and easy as pie to have affinities with. His eyes were undeviating ahead, envisaging in an auspicious and judicious way what lay ahead.
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The Stalker, Koesnadi Jamaluddin Kawiswara Bhadriko.
Telegram
Dreinmos Salvatore
I, #NONDATE ๆๆฃๆญ โBOOKS & POETRY. ๏ผยฑ. "Should I k*ll myself, or have a cup of coffee?" Needs more courage to live than to kยกll myself.
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The preeminent bersagliere in the entire United States was begotten with the most expeditious hands at this moiety of the Mississippi to establish him as the nonpareil. A cognomen that he procured every time he triumphed in rivalries betwixt fellow competitors. An accomplishment that will protract to reverberate and dub his fantabulous name in reminiscence.
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The horse's hooves adorn every gait it takes. The jet-lagged whinnying as well as the capering gaits made the man with the cowboy hat adorning his head become cognizant of how far they had journeyed, his mesomorphic hands stroking his horse's mane fervently. That man, the pleader for cessation of hostilities.
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