Let's do this:
There was a hat, a red hat with purple curls and linnen footsteps. I was always very enarmoured with the lassies. Every night and water deep I would crawl picture load after fruitful. That how citrusses go, calm and water tight, softly laughing nearly over. That's why I can see the sky. Open heart surgery, open minded mic night, sloshing words overturned the world. Types a blazin' trompet shouter nighly paper wrapped entoed in ankle deep mudlike creature zombie cave.
Lulu had a pink caro
usel. She licked it fra
ntically, blueing to
ngue and all. She had yellow ballerina's soaking off her dress. She tiptoed passed the fence, white daisies in her hands. She beame
d up at windows, trees and lollipops. That was how soft the wind blew.
Clearing off the table she managed to outrun the sheep. Her fire was fading into lightness, supple daily closet kill. The tea spilled in her lap, burning white patches of carve inside her .....Not that mattered all, not that at all. She was way ahead of time and space and grace far ahead.
She slagged the yogurt off and screamed a loud outcry. but no-one heard. That feeling back again, like soft sand suffocating her. There was that feeling again of soft rain on her face and drowning her again. She opened the window and promptly fell out.
*shrugs*
That's what we call a stream of conscienceness. Absolute blabber and incomprehensibility.
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