All days with ’em and their promising rays and quite guises in pretense and before Jack Robinson is done shots and for checking the white clouds of the firmament taken charge in naught for might and light to cuddle the atmosphere blurry and thick to point in the wee the clouds stealth in bounds or so.
The last sip you had marked the last grace your earth shall use
Keep your things when in lots in store house, would help reduce
Cut the art to feed on nails and their putrid black bits should the judgment day
Pass the path to posit, past the mercy shores in time to appear, should green he gray
Save the stupid as so very kind at as the relaxing Nile-rine
A stitch in the tick-tock time they indeed inferred saved nine.
Now, Fato, how further apart this hour I beseech?
My spirit need to know the earth this day to be blunt, he feels the water at times even does screech.
They said lots of praises, items of reward, thumps of clap hands and dried valleys to the quizzing gaze – quizzical pastures improves lacking its disappointing worths for he whose, today, today’s sentential remarks be not as prolix as yours as mine, pause. Brevity with lots of periods is welcome now. Like as it used to be put on heavy tall wide-mouthed black cotton for fashion has reverted to tips and slim-fittings today is appreciated. Off course, of cause. Life and irrelevances, as they come across beneath hourly overtaking man’s schedule as certainly choice be not ours so.
Fato is dosing as the fixed water up the sky is preparing to be altruistic to fall
We on top, perhaps even at the mercy of the lots of water gummed this unstable foamy tall
Inseparably discharged in pretense as one they chose and be apart in millions of miles to read
Yet much more pelting of rain, pushes this sea tide to make us bleed
And the destination designed us from home before we left the street
Runs out of chance into mishap for us to be bulgy, packed stacked around the sea’s feet
Forgo how further pestering one to come on and reply
Pray for journey success, then tomorrow shall you come again to apply.

Every paddle in this canoe to count amount for trio. I am one as you are but the last takes life for fun and thus rests as the tides begin to show their usual craze.
Even if life be the bed of roses, you have got to take your time to make the bed, cut the roses, lay the bed in the attained apartment and dress the dress, roses in the bed and insure the looks of other interior materials installed. Only nothing comes for free even if only nothing too implies ought in the dictionary. And sorry, I can’t do short statements bloke. A man has got to develop his dignity dressing it all all around a specific ground. The ground may be glare and may be gore; madness rests in us all.
Did we leave without compass?
It is just over there we would be down with the canoe, we argued
Our first time experience on the sea, none here knows how to change the directional class
Whether to that North, hot we go nay. Or to that South, shivering we paddle
We cannot tell and the sea does not tell for the beast of the East
For the arrogance of our West’s Objective, has put us bemused understood?
As young as we be yet would not decide which part sanity pass
And the decisions of the rags we tried to avoid, sets our feet drowning with the sea’s dictatorial handle
Have time not circled us one tricycle but twain-legged chased by dearth on his fast fisting feet.
Should boredom have an instance in human unit, one of us not yet resting and not me, certainly shall be hailed for such. Whining remarks need is not needed but we need a right stance where feet are not allowed. There is nothing even like feet and even hope has lost the virtue he so much cherishes to go pompous about with. Take a nap and shall I not roll this canoe ashore before you come back from death! May the life we left by and the life so sweet we feed on now cuddle and wrap me with shroud millions of milestones and cast me o’er for the sea to see.
We would have to wake Waggy the fakest of us all, though
We both have contributed of some proceeds remarkable so
He lacks in all, even she adds a lot of beauty than how beautiful he would e’er be
A pat on his feet should grace that done
Should we use our hands or his idle paddle could be
Or aye, the water is cold, the one in shoes feels hot
Shall we pour the cold on his peaceful face and his light feet for last resort got?
It is all mirage to behold and define like the facade a thorny flower would shower shimmering from range. We are as further as ever as being at the middle of this sea you would believe not to condemn, I am real. I am Faker and not Waggy which you tagged me which nudged my consciousness to being with you and you and with her. Name is powerful. It is a tag death with all his long acclaimed fame and spiritual worth can not only not tamper with but also, you would see him pampering it big as though it’d save him a grace with the paradise lost to him since in the beginning… I, Faker could make it to your shores as desired as long as the firmament remains under my feet, aye, I can.
Have you two not being within your utter pretense we are brotherly enough?
You and you have committed treble terrible errors by that alone but in connotation of
The liberty to term be yours as it be mine to too and to explain
You were found in dirts, gummed in bits with muds beyond my Coast plain
Would care to carry. I lifted you once here but rested listening to you as possibly you tried to plan
I am the Faker and all canoes are mine and by my ‘go’ I always had ’em ran
In the time past, with you and the rainstorms that shall trample us apart
Albeit, one bartender shall serve you wine and your own, for the morrow, shall be a busy cart.
Oh! How sour further would I learn this day I enquire? Confusion all this be, not just there ordinarily but damn deeply severe. One planned to task to paddle like us in the roll planned had pre-planned my future in his rest time. How ludicrous, shall, this, go, tell us? Oh, tell us, come tell us you dark clouds with your pretentious faces!
Take the paddle and enjoin
We need earth and feeds and some coin
None salty water, warm enough to cool the esophagus
Good bed to grown some Z and better belles looking not at all a bit gross.
O! Where, are my sucks?
I have missed much of the morning shows put to charge – oh, my ducks!

He is no Waggy. That he had told. We called him one more name, check the texts atop. All things showcases pretense and would later appear deceit can be richer than the whole truth yay. It could be we have lost it to come back to senses, and the names we tagged on ourselves, just the rightly needed opposite of the whole truth from the start to this finish.
Paddle on paddle in l my Minimie
Put a charge of stop to whining crying, ah mummy me…
Wake up and be valuable like the salt is in the care of soup
As a bottle of beer would be virtuous to the drunks as they bring up n’ stoop.

Read also:

Short Story: Chain Work by Jodekss Gloatkenf

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