Another Christmas

And this year, I have been gifted the gift of poetry.
A Collection of Keat's poetry, along with a copy of Machiavelli's "The Prince", a satirical handbook on how to rule a country.
My mother gave me them early. Don't know why.

Anyway, merry christmas. Sorry to all my friends who I won't be getting gifts for, the bank has been a bitch abvout getting me a new card.
Happy new year folks.

P.S. I have written a couple more poems for a certain someone and might upload them if I feel like, as Iago said, wearing my heart on my sleeve "for the 'daws to peck at."

P.P.S. I fucking love Othello, the play that Iago is from. Shakespeare was a godsdamned genius.

P.P.P.S I want Oscar Wilde's children. That is all.