Hey all!!
How are we enjoying our Mondays?
Monsieur Joshua is saving me today from my dry spell with this interesting piece!
Enjoy!

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When The Raisins Ate Nothing

 

Intolerant eyes seep through the cracks in the door;

Reiterating our thoughts in a million microdots.

Broken Bubbled Blisterine screams.

Juga juga juga, that is the story we will tell.

The telling of stories is an alternative,

To sitting back and watching the synapomorphy of our taxomine scars,

((Together; in the balance or under it))

I hang and cling to my dear Cecilia,the dearest of all.

Her smile like a panting old whale and an empty soup can.

Who are I? The pimple who left here with no shoes.

Weevil bites Ah-weigh da coN-Struck-shun Of Our sa-lu-bri-us dreams.

Made to see all that we are through ah-foh-rest-ay-shuns of duh-bul bah-rell-ed egos.

Hungry.

I lost my footing, but you remain unstressed in our iambic pentameter,

Cecilia.

This is not a love song, yet

but it will be.

Patience,my dear.

This is a cluck cluck duck – an Uh-peh-ray-ting fan-tom.

Orphaned peat on prophane date.

I like how our hopes wobble like a wheelers and wail out of uncomfortable conversations.

No, I will bear no compromise.

Devised a deracinated demon in the drawer of our throats so we would say the words we wanted to hear ,in slow, apple,

Bram-tuckling, ram-buckling noose-fitting, Cran-crafitng doses.

Lance after lance we dance into the gas chamber of our immaculate whispers.

Drawing in every primordial urge with cryogenically infused antlers.

Gregorian chanters,the sound of metal plate kissing metal plate.

Slashing mental slate into mental slate.

Roaming the the wild borders of our mental state,

Alas,we find the lips on which our menta sate.

I find that you were easy to love when you were broken and silent.

But now you are manumitted by the mutations of your manubrium,

And your hips sway to the zinggraaaa in other men’s eyes.

Oh foul spirit.

How can I wrest you from your foolish conceit?.

I freeze your diencephalon

until you think nothing.

I feel you die in my watery arms,

And I lay you beside harrowing daffodils,

That sing you that ugly song you never wanted to hear again.

The weevils bite away my thin veneer and I lay dead beside you.

The color of sky and a multitude of powdered babies,

This death is an epoch that kills every other one under its weight

Our glorious synapses;

Dis is da home-O-low-jus Kro-mo-some that will stand to evince our every meiotic prophase,

This is indefinitely a love song.

 

– JSL.

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*Dreamy sigh*

Back to earth!
Do not think I have abandoned writing people, I have not.
I shall soon be bringing you some stories I’ve been working and have worked on (once I’m done doing my shoddy editing. Really, I stink as an editor!:'( )

Drop your comments!!
Tee Hee!

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