a certain thing goes blink,
deep in someone's memory,
deep in some other's head,
that shines in front of a screen
and projects everything in 3D.
Here lies the body of Sir Walter Thomas
in St. Abbey's corner--but nevermind the blink,
there it goes again, smiling, shining,
aiming for something cloudy and high,
a shooting star tired with the wishes of children,
trying to land in some desert terrain, maybe Arizona,
and hoping for another fucking abortion.
"Look," he says, "at the mother whose milk
overflows with joy,
but gets spilled on the concrete floor,
and flows out to the absorbent carpet-permeating-wood-underlay."

"And a toast to gravity, where some ants drink
bottles full of 'honey,'
sweetened flavours turning sour with time."

"And a toast to chastity," says the shooting star,
for every wish consumes energy,
if only all the energy in the world would be returned with gratitude,
which would much rather power hydroelectric dams
and feed poor families.

"And i'm no Santa Claus,"
"I'm as real as fuck."

needs work.
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
That was a really great read. It's extremely thought-provoking and interesting/ I did find it hard to follow, and in the end i have no idea what it is about. I love the last stanza, as it provides the piece with a sharp, arbrupt finish.

Overall, I think this is very good. Just out of curiosity, could you perhaps enlighten me as to what the concept or idea behind it is?
I'm here to help

Quote by Jimbleton
ok, as usual pit is being very unhelpful except andychalmers, so im gonna go post this someplace else

And a master of storytelling...

Quote by Jackolas
andychalmers102, that story is awesome.