The Underground Garden: Amor Vincit Omnia
If it were perfect
We'd be fictional
Cynical
Compulsively delusional
Of the Truth If the road were smooth
There'd be no wear on the tires
No need to stop for gas
No journey is as unadventurous as that If there were no struggle
How would we learn
Whether the sparks of the fire that burns
Are worth the heat They are to me. I adore
Am adored
Like all others in
Oddball Magazine