5-minute story.
I'm giving myself 5 minutes to write and then walking out the door.
Steeped in a burgundy haze, my viscera are slippery and warm. If you give it a minute, the grand plan will project itself from my manubrium and bleed sunshine and glory onto all in attendance.
---
Restitute inklings deliberate amongst one another with fervor and intensity.
I can't connect it all, really. It's not about me anymore. I'm contemporary. I'm high-tech. I'm nervous and anxious and grinning like a child. IT's the future that has me psyched. I'm not living in the silliness and sophomoric atmosphere. I came to love. It doesn't help. It's not a buffer or a buttress or anything. It's fire. It's pestilence. I hate it.
Steeped in a burgundy haze, my viscera are slippery and warm. If you give it a minute, the grand plan will project itself from my manubrium and bleed sunshine and glory onto all in attendance.
---
Restitute inklings deliberate amongst one another with fervor and intensity.
I can't connect it all, really. It's not about me anymore. I'm contemporary. I'm high-tech. I'm nervous and anxious and grinning like a child. IT's the future that has me psyched. I'm not living in the silliness and sophomoric atmosphere. I came to love. It doesn't help. It's not a buffer or a buttress or anything. It's fire. It's pestilence. I hate it.