Ethereal yums are half as filling, twice as disturbing.
If everything exists outside of time, then we need bug eyes.
I entered my cocoon, to emerge as a caterpillar.
I can see the beautiful person within everyone, once I dissect them.
A concatenation, nay an aggregation, of fruit-y spoilage. Lay this thought as an egg that will hatch in your heart, incubated by the heat of a frenzied mind: uniformity is safer than diversity.
A skin disease for the universe.
The Plum Vortex
I’ll just be gone for an hour; I am leaving orbit. This vortex tastes plum-y.
The dreadful deconstruction of Mr. Pinneapple.
It is a hopeless love story. The oranges are naivete in fruit form, growing up in a family of orphans.