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Death sentence soledad

It was not even summer, but she knew it wouldn’t last long. This rule over people, this hidden agenda in plain sight. Beware, scorpions are attacking the neighbourhood. They are the one’s to be scared of, believe me, pal. We were the artists, the true blood of new immersions in that sea of sound. Boasting was something else. The kitchen in that restaurant made some profit, I guess that was all it was about. Beer. A circle of mediocre musings. We never attended this school, never had to learn anything. We were blood, that was spilled on the surface. Arise, my friend! Get to know it; the sphere of bitterness! We all became bitter, all lost taste in that tempest of tackle dinosaurs, binaural nemesis, microbiotic muffles. What else. It has brought us down, in the usings of many plants that occupied salt mistresses, no name products, midsummer garment, minotaur even, and videoplaylists on that fucking youtube. The boat has stranded somewhere, but nobody knows its destination. It’s overly-awaken alertness, they teach. Where is that all going to make a change? Old saying, about despair and density. Minute Marmalade, number two temperaments, bloodshed fingerprints, monitors over a mess, blue tramplings, feisty fulminance, we’re done with the candles.

You can go and put one in a church, or give me money for the trespass to that other sphere. Trickery undone, whats left? Some hereditary thing. Open sky remedy. And then we are no more. We’re gone for all times. No more tears, no fighting.

The holy happiness was a boast form his mouth, uncertain the destination, even if. And if, nobody knows anymore. They are uncanny about muscle spasms from a wretched individual, so much is sure. The wilderness calls certain names, stupor to bliss, calm to sadness. She cannot call. Occupied territory. Jingle bells soon to be exposed in grammar activities from brains with powerdots’ achievements. Was it mine? Is it yours? Has the expiration date arrived, to be drifting in melancholy’s anchor-haven? Hurry, the cinematic opening has arrived into town. Grand Opera, wishful thinking. Vikings are headed northways, zinnober bullets shoot in the area around the stomach, always tearing on the fiber, for swift is the hour, the garden open today. Bounce it, freak. Underlying minefields exposed. They want no less than something crude. Something to tear apart the gum of the mouth, something more violent than what? My scratches understand every word I’m saying, full of scarce appetizers, full of those honeymen collapsing. Chest pain, head ache medicine. Blue is frenetic obscurity. Best before end. It vanished somewhere, cannot be replaced like a battery, it’s gone. Their raspberry catacombs collide with the latest cars, they’re everywhere: In the sky, on the ground. Blisters of Betterment, stay in fringes of fuelling windows coming across gentle occupations. Tempests arise on the other hemisphere.old aged horoscopes bend over the table to pay bills of which noone never thought. Beach volley astonishment postponed to quark time. Ginger gamblers, red. Ticketing hours are seven to eight, the eligible please hold it. Or wash yourself if you dare. Fringe of Vermeer’s art, fresh powder snow, Trashcan Tribeca, manufacture of skulls gone fishing. Can they reappear? It’s astonishing in the north. Bingo they say. Horrible opinion. Man made materaces, it’s rolling they say. Blue blinks of eyes, lightning in skies, veins white as charcoal counterparts are, the opposite is never enough. The festivities are cancelled, zombies arise, of course, civilized one’s. They’re not dangerous, even if…the usage of the word makes people think.