I'm searching for the Bukowski poem that explains the perfect looking people across the room and how it is just an illusion - we are all the same really - there is no one who doesn't feel phony and is just hiding behind the veneer - but it was centered around a woman I think - but the flavor of...
This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.