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— Tom Brown, Jr."A prison! heav'ns, I loath the hated name, Famine's metropolis, the sink of shame, A nauseous sepulchre, whose craving womb Hourly inters poor mortals in its tomb; By ev'ry plague and ev'ry ill possess'd, Ev'n purgatory itself to thee 's a jest."
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I long for truth, and yet I cannot stay from that My better self disowns, For a man's attention Brings such satisfaction To the craving in my bones.
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I'm a sucker for good black skirts and pretty little shirts and kooky tops. I have to admit that shopping satisfies my craving for immediate gratification.
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