And it grew day through night without a thought. And the dreams and the ideas fought. So it became of the thinker to grow more than itself, and encompass it, for fear of being alone.
She is a box with door knobs for hinges,
A tight squeeze for whom may be curious of the contents she beheld. For once it may have been said, although I reconciled the opportunity/Erased. And filled the void with the imagination of an infant deprived of another. Quite a periless thought, although the idea behind could tell you a completely different tune.
The smile was in the key of c as it was rehearsed but once, and though shalt not understand a single word, but in an essence, grasp the concept as a whole. Out of this, not once, but twice she gasped, opening her breath to the world. Outside a smaller than usual apple tree sighed.
Back in the Queen Bee a dry pipe twists and tuirns in its sleep, encompassing all but the walls of the hive. The workers obliged with a seal of guilt stapled to their sweet and heavy memory. The father of assembly child cried, “Hope” and just as they arrived in to sequencing, they would vanish. Just like they had every other time, year by year by day by week. Inside, a larger than normal coffee pot stirred and awoke.
Back to wake up, Back to wake up, forward to sleep, Forw...Back to wake up, , Back to wake up, Left to live, Back to wake up, Back to wake up, Back to wake up, Right to die.
The night sky was filled with more stars than I could count yesterday. The leaves of grass seem to have made more friends. One said to another, “If I could, would you?” But the other blades of grass didn't answer because, “Grass can't talk, I think”, I said, (I thought). Moving from the area purple started singing songs about red from inside the jar. Red can't change tone though because it thinks tone is bad. All tones are bad they mean the same to a color either way. As a watch for my friend, I could not let her down. But then again, over there, she could not think so I had to do it for her. And somewhere in her small heart, I knew there was an irregular beat of laughter.
Deep, dark, dismal, for which it was that I may be, The Queen Bee. Thice shall now become number one as I have left you this honey, my workers cum. And forward those who fight in fear for it may foreshadow a reminiscent splash of a mirror.
Forwards is up as backwards is down.
And I could not comprehend rolling up a window without displaying a frown.
Light calls me apathetic, dark prefers impassive. Nullified of eyes while I feel no connection to either.
Why do you keep staring at me?
