Make this the classic
To outlast, cast apart other behemoth classics – matter of factual fact guaranteed,
to gather its behemoth self correctified glorious amidst
these dastardly fictional tales, please

Harper Lee need hold nothing on, over, nor happenstance upon

Eagle-eyed We, for she is past and this is entirely, tirelessly present

A worshiped, envy-laden book which will tell of a most inescapable, re-tellable tale, as real as The Bible … … … per say a less pummeled permittence
of direct aptitude to the pause-for-fought-thought-cause
Of many a manic person’s strifetime

Wherein we can undeniably, righteously bind ourselves quite jovially, imploringly within… and to finally feel all kinds of gargantuan and free
To breathe at silenced, sophomore pace again… … …

This onslaught pen shall determinedly, oh so very configuratively persistently choose its re-awares readership
and tie them right by any wanderlust dream that shall take to have ’em

Ten thousand words over, more so… and indeed, so it does seem, on we must insist toward ourselves to go – enthused by the fight of our quickfire lifetime

No real pandersome rhyme carried by plain mundane reason
Rather nothing but carefree distillation pleasure
enveloped ’til gladly intermingled
creatively amidst serious concentration

This is the demonstrative demonstration and parlayed to all of them all,
by one such concise aside considerably considerate writer who carries with her an altogether intelligently deafening, rhythmically enhanced all kinds of unanswerable wicker-bridge reasoning

Guided by frightfully pained, insane mundane, disguised aside corrupt and disfiguratively speaking treason

Here lies the perfected liar, a compulsive ability to appear to be ever so mild at that

Wildfire wickersome within
And all of it exceptionally fictional, only ever to be treasured of course

A buttered pancake sausage roll toast to the chosen one-million of you going frozen forthforward with meanderingly pleasing pleasure – the deadlock pristine,
like no other silken thing to be bless-phemed on our sworn apart, torn asunder blundersome Earth

Making up the difference by way of cutthroat divide, she carries only ever a Constance within, her smarmy-ass motherf**king drops of Jupiter eyes

No less petifyingly paralysing,
All writers carry with them this crazily unexplainable Ego, whilst they ceaselessly summarise,
hereforth a motormouth spillage of f**kwit deplorable and spitfire word

This is their chosen ample David V. Goliath sword, either way forthforward that shall none too gladly have ’em

Pen/Ink/And thrill the life right from them… on through, to delicately, oh so very deliciously illiterate you

Few, too many altogether

All together, please

Share and Enjoy !

0Shares
0 0