Where I Post From

someone tell me why comedically stepping around like this actually feels like im being quieter

can give?

can not.

yeah i guess you could say im trans. transporting this MUG ROOT BEER into my MOUTH

you want me to tell people i love them? the thing that killed basil hallward??

going back to the field where you once played as a child.

its an earthy, magical feeling,

and yet liminal and lonely.

the grass is tall and thin, untouched by those who frequently trimmed it when you were young.

the tree branches are falling, which reminds you of how taken care of it used to be.

prying through the grass, a million spider webs start to dance upon you-

each one uncontrolled by its owner.

because of your current state, you are unable to decide whether to frantically jump out of the way,

shaken of being attacked by the almost invisible threads-

or to apologize to the spider for destroying its home.

barren patches of dirt lay on the ground,

and the wind feels stronger than it used to be.

though the animals may be around, with birds tweeting and foxes prancing far off in the woods,

you feel alone.

as if all the other children who used to play here have forgotten what it was like to simply be a child.

but yet,

somehow,

for a brief moment-

you recall what it felt like to have no worries.

you like fox news? yeah, alright. but do they have wordle? strands? connections? you don't even have fucking SUDOKU so i don't want to hear it

petition for panic attack breathing videos to NOT have an ad at the beginning please

mother's pretty golden sky

father's sun that turns off each light

in heaven shall the children pry

and seek to find the dimming night.

blackened seashells cross the coast

whitened waves blending sand

unto god, our heavenly host

shall smite each devil in the land.

but carry not, as clouds sow graves

death is not to quarrel with answered prayers

the eternal trail we ourselves have paved

clashes with our forgotten stares.

When I die, bury me not on the rocky road

  For my lifeless body will be fed to crows

  Each bit of skin eaten slowly, day by day

  Until all but my bones have been unclothed.

When I die, bury me not on the mountain high

  For the finest land will be at my view

  The land of which my ancestors grew

  And I am not worthy of such a beautiful sky.

When I die, bury me not where the sand meets the water

  Where the green grass ceases to grow

  For the waves will have me pecked and slaughtered

  Until the God above takes away the watery rows.

When I die, bury me not in the trees of sage

  As branches reach over my ribcage

  Growing vines of spiked long mirth

  And nature takes me into its Earth.

come one ! come all !

to morrow night we hear the fall

of child a brethren many in may

of mother of florals cries at pray

to the fiery theater where steam is high

while the malicious spirit shall freely fly

unto a moor upon the sea

the spirit in counting travels free.

solitude of the highest fair

may find its pennies here in there

but in the dome of secret plays

withering ignorance may wonder astray.

partly due to uncounted ballots

sneeking in parties of untimely bandits

burglars of short, plump and mellow

yet filled with teacake; a worthy fellow !