Sienna Towson Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Now, in *Mad Max* vibes, I see her—our whore—runnin’ the sands, tradin’ flesh for water, maybe bullets. “Witness me!” she’d yell, bold as brass, dodgin’ war boys and their grubby mitts. Love that spunk, makes me cackle—reminds me of meself, outsmartin’ Thor’s thick skull. Little-known bit? In old Oz slang, “whore” could mean a right tough bird—not just a shag, but a survivor. Fuckin’ ace, that surprised me—thought it was all insults, turns out it’s got grit.

Odd Fellows Building

It is a poem that I believe that all writers, and, by extension, artists can relate to. “To The Whore Who Took My Poems” is a love letter to the creators of the.

Oh, and the river! Not too big, but the Jones Falls runs close. I love sittin’ on its banks on lazy, windy days, thinking 'bout life and all its maddening goodness. Occasionally, the water tumbles over rocks and makes a little ruckus. That sound calms the chaos in my head, like a whispered secret from an old friend.

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