It was tertiary.
And by that I mean it was territory.

And by that I mean it was tittilating.
And by that I mean it was terminal.
I mean, it had to end with a loud report.
We spent so long,
and the powder was so dry.
Your fire can't light this one.
The fuse is all wet.
It's over and done.

Junkyards.
Filled with oreos.
And dogs.
And cracked windshields.
And not at much filth
as a filth-ridden hilt
on a sword
of a king
or a god.

Firmly the ferns formed an archway.
Lovely and bustling, it's dusted with creatures whose fearsome
features featured a lonesome robust fractured structure built for all
of us.

Miming only action is like mining fiction faces
A fraction found in fire can be the sum of holy stasis

God how I miss her
And wish she was with me
I ****** away mystery when I had her
And now I miss her hair

Triggered in a barrel is where the fire starts
Powder on a pyre can make a tired heart

Padding padded pockets is a leaf of golden steal
Leaving lovely leaflets that I read, and have to feel
Falling from the fountain that shot hope up in the sky
My most favorite leaflet is the one that makes me try

Feeling somber is a somber feeling
I've felt green felt when she was dealing
Betting is how I make a living
Since I started taking instead of giving

Stepping on a soap box
and telling how I feel (I've learned)
Is the smartest way to steal.

I'm feeling over fishes
So, I pop them in a barrel
I am not so barren
As much as I am sterile