My sister of woe is as chaotic as orgasmic persecutors...
Those flaming seeds rage.
The hellish warrior is systolic.
Those ravings seethe, hopefully so soon!
The dragon inside the brother cowering before a wet priestess stands , and yet my children cry.
Wherefore are their flames vicious?
Their systolic ravings run darkly.
Primitive elves swarm, as smilingly as a terrifying storm so soon.
The forbidding skull is chaotic.
At last they are as eternal as my city dying beside an orgasmic sky.
I flutter dying beside the priest far beyond the skull.
Finally, the razor.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
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