

StrawberriesStrawberries by Iscariot-priestStrawberries
The vomit tastes like strawberries in my mouth, laced lightly with blood and bits of Sunday afternoon. What overfilled the tiny bucket has spilled over, drawing swirls of cherry and yellow; so filled with memories.
Yesterday wasn’t as bitter as it seems in my head, invariably looking better in retrospect; the rough edges blurred. Looking for words to describe thoughts that quickly ebb into time and tide, depthless and calm. Black.
Soon replaced by waves of thought; crashing into mind’s shores
--
“Now me lay down
to sleep.
Mow da zeebas down
like sheep.
Give dem to me
nice and dead.
Me no happy
‘til me fed.”
-Bedtime prayer of crocs (Pearls Before Swine)
--
“Now me lay down
to sleep.
Mow da zeebas down
like sheep.
Give dem to me
nice and dead.
Me no happy
‘til me fed.”
-Bedtime prayer of crocs (Pearls Before Swine)
--
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Thanks for making me think.
Peace~
--
Perception is a nasty word.
Glad I could make you think.
--
"Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee
And I'll forgive Thy great big one on me." -Robert Frost
Peace~
--
Perception is a nasty word.
--
<Edge>
--
"Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee
And I'll forgive Thy great big one on me." -Robert Frost
--
*constantly consuming*
--
"Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee
And I'll forgive Thy great big one on me." -Robert Frost
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