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Post by shamefulsean on Jan 27, 2006 13:33:25 GMT -5
I am pumpkin, and this is my cabbage patch bride.
we live in a frozen garden... despair will always be beautiful.
just like a fatal wound, on the body of a sex victim.
we are the bruise, on the farmers crops... and wife.
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Post by shamefulsean on Jan 27, 2006 13:35:18 GMT -5
a puddle, next to mine.... im territorial... wheres my shoe?
damn muddy puddle.
{puddles train of thought} the depression of this shoe will fade, unlike my own.
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Post by shamefulsean on Jan 27, 2006 13:38:34 GMT -5
a frozen garden chapel, its made of rot. where are the bride and groom?
in the pumpkin patch, letting go of long rooted roots. ...heres the end of a summer, and dressed in perrywinkle, the groom and bride.
let go the mormon, he only knows of god.... no god would marry a pumpkin, to a cabbage.
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Post by shamefulsean on Jan 27, 2006 13:41:51 GMT -5
wedding barbs... hooking with ripe vegetable.
the puddle next to the chapel, holds up a perywinkle, bride and groom. and the minister, not a mormon, thinks they are letting go of roots.
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Post by shamefulsean on Jan 27, 2006 13:44:08 GMT -5
the farmer who beats his wife, is always late, but collects the frosts dead before rot sets in.
this pumpkin and cabbage, have a perrywinkle wrapper...
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Post by shamefulsean on Jan 27, 2006 13:46:15 GMT -5
pre-wrapped trash, and this wedding is never held. just like a wife once wished.
wheres the couple?
happy is sad. just like the frowny make-up of a dead clown.
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Post by shamefulsean on Jan 27, 2006 13:46:52 GMT -5
i am pumpkin, and this is my cabbage patch bride. we are trash.
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Post by shamefulsean on Jan 27, 2006 13:47:23 GMT -5
and the muds on you...shoe
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Post by shamefulsean on Jan 27, 2006 13:48:42 GMT -5
the muds on you.
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Post by shamefulsean on Jan 27, 2006 13:49:11 GMT -5
lol. sometime i wonder if my mother smoked crack while she was pregnant with me.
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Post by Hyde on Jan 27, 2006 14:00:35 GMT -5
Well the last couple were my favorite. Ha.
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Post by shamefulsean on Feb 16, 2006 9:02:16 GMT -5
this ride is so uncomfortable, what time do you have to be back in heaven?
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Post by shamefulsean on Feb 16, 2006 9:02:31 GMT -5
straps and wraps of candy canes, riding wild horses in moonlit battle fields.
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Post by shamefulsean on Feb 16, 2006 9:02:50 GMT -5
your hand... is so frigidly cold, tight round the turtle shield swimming waters hotter and hotter, burning the skin that fleshes like a fetish.
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Post by shamefulsean on Feb 16, 2006 9:03:11 GMT -5
your lips... so deseased, kissing faeries with ripe blood on the cheeks of scattered sheep throughout a flock of mormons, and sky pilots lost at sea.
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