linkbowser12
Filling balloons for a job isn't that bad. I mean, pop one in, fill er' up for three seconds, and then instantaneous free entertainment! 'Course, that's how things were supposed to go that day, until she showed up. With her flowing hair, no one expected it to have that much static to discharge.
A gallery of his most renowned works were there for all to see. In every direction, displayed for those whom could get in to see. It was a private gallery, left only to those privileged to see his work. A gallery everyone can see is not special, it is general.
Shelter in a storm is most unwelcome when you find that it is entirely filled with flesh-eating maggots falling out of every crevice in the ceiling. Ah the misery of post-elephant take-over. No one saw this coming, elephants forcing us to live in the most dire of living conditions.
Adopting a new plan of escape is always difficult once you have failed at least twenty-three times. At least, that's how many tally-marks I have on my prison walls. This space, this place of my demise, once a home, now traps me. Help.
They creep in, never subsiding for the most simplest of times. The padding, thick, comforting, and delicious food from the little hole in the wall, walls, walls, walls...
They say I'm special, but the walls say otherwise.
A burst of light, raindrops of pure energy touch lips with eternity. No one would describe a star exploding as "sparkling" from up close. Hanging in the sky, however, to see an explosion that, holding your hands up can be cupped in your hands, is more pretty.
Clouds passing by, covering any trae oc that gorgeous celestial ball in the sky for weeks on end. In the northwest, life can get pretty bland
A dozen ideas stacked on top of one another.
where do they end?
from fashion to theoretical mathematics,
his mind never stops going. Now if only he would put it all together
and say "hi" to the world outside.
hauling our lives in hollow trunks behind us everywhere we go. Onto trains, in a passenger seat's of our lonesome beetles running on asphalt roads leading no where. Our past haunts us, why do we hang onto it so closely?
Dusk has fallen on our little tiown, coating the houses with the surreal qualities of night and day; dancing between the two, it is lost in it's own demise. The deeds of the day and the pain laid thick tonight, a town of theives never sleeps, bidding our time in dusk's honest light.
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