Another fish bowl angled empty, Sun is warming a purple sky, clouds dissipate acid rain, a drought is expectantly nye
Jim knows best, he’s lived through it all, two world wars, metal plate screwed into his skull, Alas the destruction of the Berlin Wall.
Petrified by a ghost drinking tea, what a peculiar thing to see, it was a vision he saw at the end of the bed, not quite living, yet not quite dead
plastic fish, yellow snow, blackened road, batteries on the way to bring you home, squidgy squashy insects are an all time low, hear the squealing death, of the great king toad.
Shutting her eyes in a forest, listening to an eerie sound, wind rustling, hooting owls, rumbling in stomach, moving of bowels, no place here for shit covered snails
Hearing her sighs, she taps a stick, a Labrador stands close by it gives her a lick. Having a rest in the large red chair, on her lap, a golden head peeps, she closes her eyes for an everlasting sleep.
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