horror-ship

Alone on a foggy night a latent bombardier kept their distance from abbhoration. It was a sickly manifestation of bees and wax and a bullying officially to the worlds nonchalance. It kept overcooling and raining simultaneously and the style of writing kept changing until humans became too self-aware and crept into some shadows. There was a blatant lack of disrespect for authority. And all of the worlds personalities came forth and leapt themselves into the minds eye. Supposing it was a sequel to the fonz. Then at least it would be eye-tearing. To tear out the feat. Soothing ribbons lazed themselves about the fox. It was a dangerous efficacy. Spelt baked over the moors of Fort Auderdale. So she wrote the memoirs in calm solace. Was there ever a heartache so crashing? 

Over the lunge it became overtly menacous and nothing was meant by it not even in Evestown. "You think the writing's changing because you are the one who are writing it." They letched. "You are aware of your every inch or millimetre of movement." And "do you not see how letcherous it could become?" A bent arm and a crooked tooth faggot in the benz. Holy Jessop. Don't think. A holly whale bent forwards to look her in the eye weightless above the waters held in tide by the wombing moon. Hopefully a more cupidian wholeness awaits, channelling later swallows diving at night when something stares you in the eye too deeply because you wear your heart on you eyelashes. It whimpers there unbalanced if only crows could see.

Sit and sing with us Daley Colorsi. It's ever-blossoming. And so it freed the feet from themselves over a half-baked brawl in a pie tavern. "Wholly Montgomery!" he classified. "She's wearing the bay leaf!" He wanted to say baby but the pure vomit that comes from the mouth when nimble untruths emerge on paper was enough to CONFOUND him. He spat out laughter. He hated so many things but not babys. "Sit a spell", he moved her, touching her fangs of fire in the moonflower Canton herons letch!