manuscriptx
New Member
It's strange. As I'm walking along I see this really grey cloud staring. The first link leads to success, the second an aggressive behavioral tactic, like frustration and neediness never going hand in hand. I thought I could control it but it was no good. I'm sobbing now, really sobbing. I can't control myself. My hands are like autumn leaves brittle, crumbled, cracked and falling away. I see the etching old that's marked 34 years to the day, chains; two and three. You know what the laughing hyena said to me the other day? She said I was what I exactly deserved, a riddle, a tampering thought, and I never found out what the answer meant until now. Yes, it was a chain, like so many others in an endless cycle; four and five.
Not in a day, or a week, or in forever, a life story. So I said to her, you need to know a little more about me before you make your conception, but that's not cause for alarm is it, a little accuracy goes a long way. We'll each, see each other again in some form or fashion, the gentle Guinea pig and her over bearing witchcraft blinding sight, salting trees and over blowing the morbidly obese. Chain six, the yellow river; chain seven, the evergreen mint; chain eight, the numbing cold feet; chain nine and ten, the fiery death. What is beyond those red riddled caves, nightmares, demons, false promises and false hopes, false trusting faces or something deadly never to be seen again?
Chain links dipped in chocolate, chain links dipped in heat, chains to infinity linking children of the deep. The red-headed step child, the particle son returns, Superman's worst enemy, the Jedi returns. Not in a day or in a week, was this ever so eloquent I see how steep. Preservation of the body is the everlasting key; immortality is within me, link number fifteen. Links twenty and onward run through a black hole called darkness where angels fear to tread, not seen in this lifetime because there's little else. When at the end of these lives mark 10,000 and 1 light a match and explode it onward into the next number one.
Not in a day, or a week, or in forever, a life story. So I said to her, you need to know a little more about me before you make your conception, but that's not cause for alarm is it, a little accuracy goes a long way. We'll each, see each other again in some form or fashion, the gentle Guinea pig and her over bearing witchcraft blinding sight, salting trees and over blowing the morbidly obese. Chain six, the yellow river; chain seven, the evergreen mint; chain eight, the numbing cold feet; chain nine and ten, the fiery death. What is beyond those red riddled caves, nightmares, demons, false promises and false hopes, false trusting faces or something deadly never to be seen again?
Chain links dipped in chocolate, chain links dipped in heat, chains to infinity linking children of the deep. The red-headed step child, the particle son returns, Superman's worst enemy, the Jedi returns. Not in a day or in a week, was this ever so eloquent I see how steep. Preservation of the body is the everlasting key; immortality is within me, link number fifteen. Links twenty and onward run through a black hole called darkness where angels fear to tread, not seen in this lifetime because there's little else. When at the end of these lives mark 10,000 and 1 light a match and explode it onward into the next number one.