Knuckles Above the of sugar cookies
Bullies are the high the justified. Self-appointed. Self-anointed. Didn't even cook them but has a whole plate of steaming hot fresh smelling cookie Men with choco chunks for grins. Put on floor before hungry bright-eyed kids. But fist is raised and waiting. Can kids wait until cookies harden run out of steam. The melted chocochunks lose there gleam. To reach it to breach. To earn a slap. All to inflate bullies ego crap. Bullies brightest years where to time of underclassmen's fears.
Production Tickets start End Times Holiday
Buy a ticket to spread your blankets in the field where the best views are yielded. The massive fireworks of the end times. Bombs burst with bright lights and the skies have bright horizon chases colors. Sparkling color fonts of air bombs to poison all below. So beautiful the skies of the final night the manufactured and long-planned end times night. All rules laid aside. Get drunk and choose a bride. The fever mad screaming joy. Chant our songs to the burning death winds the rend all apart and burn up the heart lands. As long planned. Planned by elite priests who survive with teenage wives deep under the fields to await the freshening of the new pure earth. A earth of their Worth. Amen.
last book with cheese and fog The great rally to need to the Breeze
The one and lone godless family in the middle of this do gooder community. they know their logic can have no effect on the way things are going to be. They quit their jobs and burn all the fire logs. Reading books and eating cheese. When the poison winds blow they open the window let in the killing stilling breeze.
Prairie Snow through the skies
Twenty thousand dead, the midwest a torch but in the middle of summer comes a blizzard. Prairie snow through the skies. Cooling the radiation. Cleansing the earth. The feet, few feet rise up again as steam but soon the snow drifts rise like white frozen waves. A clean and fertile land lays beneath.
Mollusk in the Sudden shift of these customs in the corn life, an aphrodisiac, was very common Flat Lands in the Breeze
The Red Death Hills. A brain cell woven welcome mat that ia thinking it should have eyes of Cards in the forest. Great hovering mollusks pass above dropping drips of procreative mist. It acts as an aphrodisiac and the people freely mate in the fields. It is said to help the crops. Greasy low hovering rainbows of mind tweaking hues.
Owl mating dance the Apocalypse Flat lands as the "golden falling asleep under Moon
Great owls with golden feather circle feather fluffing feathers, spinning heads around in odd ways. If they mount then the world shall go on. If they fall asleep under the blanket of moonlight then the world shall die.
Taste my Mask last stand. Death I am Trespassing in The Clouds
A long kiss on the mask that fully covers my face. My death mask. Now I will my spirit into the clouds where I am not allowed. I trespass to the higher realms. I will stand here perhaps a thousand years. My final shroud will flap on this cloud when caught and my soul finally and completely destroyed peace I will find in that future now. My cloud rains blue milk to soften the skin and cause visions when licked off leaves. My cloud only goes overhead at midnight, the rest of the time it's unseen.
Windy Night in corn field. Sulk to death and was assisted by his magical powers.
An old Shaman now withered and bent returns to the fields that empowered him in his early twenties. He is old and bitter and his teeth are broken and rotten filling his jaws with pain all the time. He hates how the magic land of his youth is all buildings and stores, apartments and parking lots now. Except for this secret field. In a space outside the map. He has come here to sulk to death. His magic helps him become a mummy, sitting cross-legged in a cornfield gone feral. Body still for two hundred years, but eyes all wise and bright.
And this entirely a lovely merkin. Black as Night getting lonesome
A lovely merkin. Black as Night getting lonesome
My dead lover's silky ebony hair made into several merkins after her passing. Sad kites fly at midnight. I stroke the lovely merkins and cry so soft in my upstairs room. Windows open to release the gloom. Scoop up a taste of the rolling fog with a swipe of my ancestor bone spoon. The merkin still smells like You.