Hieroglyphs.The boy sat in the tree, his face like maple syrup.Hieroglyphs. by ~Velocipedist
Raindrops and lemondrops (and gumdrops) sprinkled the dewstrewn ground; a passable imitation of misery and sweeties. 'You can really taste the rain,' said boy. 'God's piss,' said God to the boy.
Splats of mud and clay like whirlpools and quicksand swirled their abyss. A brownish miasma belching and yawning, an Indonesian coastline after their sins cleansed. The boy had a penchant for hyperbole, it's true. There was mud that squelched like fermenting puss when he there was mud, pumping, he walked, and clotting heart burst.
'I don't believe Hamlet was mad,' said the boy. For it seemed to him that, although people seemed to get on with each other, you only had yourself to really get to know, and whose right was it to say that so-and-so's brain is missing a wire, all because the connection is a little 'faulty,' and whose right was it to decide this conception of 'faulty' in any case. For everyone needed help, it seemed, to the boy, a