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Rated: E · Other · Occult · #1534028
sensory overload.

Stories blatant but message short
so limited in vagueness and rhetort

"Eye- cal" be the pattern that was name
Its combination created frame planes
and its mystifying function was its sand
shining junction that alleviated phantom pains

This spot stream shot gleam dream scheme
kept many mind moat mole hounds
completely earth bound

This graph glare stopped stare, seemed only complete
When stolen shared

So many measurements and cabinets created
storage fun for control runs just like internal combustions
and finite construct buttons

So abstract this job that when moon parachute boot landed
they were given the law bog and lie log.

Morrow' was our mirror but the mights and
minnows cant shake the squeal
The steal was the wake that awoke and falsities in
fog were the wishes and wonder though
The windows werent the world

Now to curvy counter which sped the spew
and sank the sit under net that narrowed any
novice into the needle of narcosis that powedered
the diet of deits so slow that the low sewed the
show in and around the information flow.

It was a work that the Walrus wailed to well
when many of the rations were packaged and
prettied up like spice so the sillys and
super shackled could feel like the night.

This was no chapel nor steepel to scare him a scar
but more so the umbrella to relieve his senses afar.
T'was the wire tangle mud mangles that wedded his word whorf
Next to the overseer with such domineer and distort.
And if leaned a bow surely shed bleed the wire-nilly allowed
Eye-cal a scream.

What if now they feel-fell and rolled a rock down?
Then seemlessly they'd lead to lie-my-eye town
with knobs and drink droplets to oversee their dilute
and breaching brass buttons that brewed many a stew.
Soon strolling a strap shadow suspend-her crept and the pity
piglett round-a-bout bends new no importance of those whom dreamt
Special these spoofs in dust ladden belt and so
sensory overload it told Eye-cal how to felt

Hour glass tip toes but do not dare match the mold
For the trunk of true dawn is what will not be sold
but once the burst breathes back they shall always fall file in line
during visual organized stimuli schema of time.

So my dear while were faceted in this sprocketed shore
lets slip in a fungai rot to unlock the door
however many comes in I cannot even count
but hopes high they carry its key while their sloshing about





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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1534028-The-Hidden-Church