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The clock spirals into a sub-urban underworld, the twisted, perverse land of the infamous, un-sacred Gods. Where the time stands as still as a warm glass of lemonade on a summers nigh, where the citizens are as careless as wondrous beaver desperately and frantically digging up a small mound in the hard earth. This place is immensely malevolent, but the malignant activities that are held in between these four walls, appear somewhat amusing to my consecrated, beady eyes.
The evening is as dark, is as black, as my systematically dense eyes, yet they contain a certain degree of anticipation, of amusement, in this land, I prevail as I rule over this temporary hybrid of pain and disgust. One like me could not survive in the world of cleanliness, the world of good… Murderous ways were not to be accepted by the rulers of this land of finesse; my dark hub of malice, where I live now is far superior to anything experienced in any other land.
Welcome to my Land. This peculiar, pestilential, malignant land of dire torment.
Malignant…
The evening is as dark, is as black, as my systematically dense eyes, yet they contain a certain degree of anticipation, of amusement, in this land, I prevail as I rule over this temporary hybrid of pain and disgust. One like me could not survive in the world of cleanliness, the world of good… Murderous ways were not to be accepted by the rulers of this land of finesse; my dark hub of malice, where I live now is far superior to anything experienced in any other land.
Welcome to my Land. This peculiar, pestilential, malignant land of dire torment.
Malignant…
Thanking you
I get it! Because that's your user name!
Tis good. Your choice of similes are rather strange, I wouldn't describe a beaver that is 'desperately and frantically digging up a small mound in the hard earth' as 'careless'! A sloth is careless, beavers are rather troubled with their dam building responsibilities! Nevertheless, a descriptive and well written piece.
Nice.
If not a little strange. But nice.
If not a little strange. But nice.
That was good that.
The writing style was good.
Yeah. Nice one.
The writing style was good.
Yeah. Nice one.
The clock spirals into a sub-urban underworld, the twisted, perverse land of the infamous, un-sacred Gods. Where the time stands as still as a warm glass of lemonade on a summers nigh, where the citizens are as careless as wondrous beaver desperately and frantically digging up a small mound in the hard earth. This place is immensely malevolent, but the malignant activities that are held in between these four walls, appear somewhat amusing to my consecrated, beady eyes.
The evening is as dark, is as black, as my systematically dense eyes, yet they contain a certain degree of anticipation, of amusement, in this land, I prevail as I rule over this temporary hybrid of pain and disgust. One like me could not survive in the world of cleanliness, the world of good… Murderous ways were not to be accepted by the rulers of this land of finesse; my dark hub of malice, where I live now is far superior to anything experienced in any other land.
Welcome to my Land. This peculiar, pestilential, malignant land of dire torment.
Malignant…
The evening is as dark, is as black, as my systematically dense eyes, yet they contain a certain degree of anticipation, of amusement, in this land, I prevail as I rule over this temporary hybrid of pain and disgust. One like me could not survive in the world of cleanliness, the world of good… Murderous ways were not to be accepted by the rulers of this land of finesse; my dark hub of malice, where I live now is far superior to anything experienced in any other land.
Welcome to my Land. This peculiar, pestilential, malignant land of dire torment.
Malignant…