In-Field Killer
Armed in rouge and a baroque persona, She - ever calculated- now had dressed in deceitful love.
And he was deeply in love; hopelessly deep...
And hopelessly loved.
He was the stunning superlative of a natural inamorato; graciously touched and admired in whole.
He was the muse of light, feathered consciousness in the sphere of doubt. A virtuous spirit, he had once not felt the blossom of seduction.
He was in love. And she was dubbed Fate.
She, dubbed Fate, and her brilliant poison was a fickle-hearted demeanor.
She did not obliterate the hearts of grievous forbodings;
in fact, quite the contrary.
Twas Fate and the kindred of affection that melted a lover soft and unwary.
Her bluff- he could not convict.
Forsakenly rough and tried in passion, Fate had clamored high-headed; unparallel to the despairing betrayal.
Beds were nights, and nights were spent in beds. She did not deem one as her own, and his bed was not hers.
He was a flower- acutely rooted in unquivering color.
And she, a pollinating bee, quested succulence in honey. A bee unsatisfied died, but she was Fate, and she was thriving.
Loyalty; his tragic flaw. His nature of imperfection danced around her like tease.
She was damned to be locked in the arms of his safety, but stupid, she was not nor never.
Startling vividness was the covenant of Fate, and startled she was no longer.
At least not in the arms of him.
She did not feel selfish in temptation, neither in cheat.
She was compelling and craving;
She was Fate.
Bad Puns
Injustice is many things, but above all it's an injustice to let a bad pun escape your lips. You can do better than a bad pun people. And I must admit I'm not only a victim to this injustice, but a perpetrator too. There is not one person in the world who has never let a joke or pun escape their lips. You might be in history class and you say, "My dream is to open a photo processing store in a developing country" (Justbadpuns). You could even say that in a photography class. All I'm trying to say is the injustice of bad puns will never end. We can't stop the natural flow of time, neither can we stop the natural flow of puns. Sure you can subdue it by not saying any of them, but eventually you'll hear one and you won't be able to refuse muttering it again. So let's all continue on being the victim of bad puns, we can't do anything about it anyway.
Justbadpuns. Blog post. Just Bad Puns. Tumblr, n.d. Web. 16 Feb. 2017.
Wilt Well
Languished in prosperity
Deter; do disincentivize.
For listlessness of the damned shall
Not, nor be of the naïve benevolent.
Falter falls to finite.
Due time
I am the Harbinger.
Denouement you desire.
Lightly dark-
The paradoxical pinnacle.
Do not cry
By the wilt well.
Dredge from the impossible drowning.
Postured high without illusion
I am here, I am the Harbinger.
A subsequent catalyst of doubt.
Rejoice! Hoist your gaze.
Aim this arrow,
And do not cry
By the wilt well.
Word Vomit
Impartial
the marshall
Truth seek, bespeak the peak
Sign in the fine of the righteous divine
See me, See
he, See she
She sees
Complexity in the convexity of the erratic reflexity
We know now not the neither;
Vocally resent the faulty displeaser.
Musn't one must assimilate trust
In spite of the justified, utter disgust?
Bleed in oppression
They need the progression!
Pragmatic, are you?
Maybe quite the emphatic.
As you try to succumb by rule of the thumb
Unbeknownst to none,
it hums
it hums
She, The Game
Sought pernicious in virulence,
Ideal, she conquers the plate-
Dances for scheme. She traps
Validation in fabrication;
Impeccable, her feathered prospect.
Capitulate whom temps those she will.
Has the silenced mayhem quenched?
Measure the coinage she preaches-
Lost in play, fail to fuss.
She undermines the boundary that is the game.
