A sick swan among ducks and turtles, swimming in a pool of clotting blood and cat vomit. Puke worthy, it's like pulp and mulch, you ever see those old log trucks in the North, pulp smells sweet, it can be a burnt orange color. They put metal on the bottom of the trucks so when they hit small tree stumps in the woods it won't mess up the truck. It's like a tank.
This place is like the paradise of slaked lime, I am exceedingly pale, rather shrink from the sight of everyone and I am still parading around, still dropping ink blots here and there and they don't deserve it. They might as well look at sloping slate roofs during a lazy, drunken rain, things they can't notice. It's not their fault...but God must love my eyes, my skin is cold, filtered sunlight through the blinds.
I am exhausted, it is what thy heart doth say. An orchestra of flowers, carousel of pretty girls, forgotten barn, I used to chase them, now they chase me.