luni, 30 martie 2015

Creamer or pint?

Resurrected in a surrogated heaven’s infestation,
Shadowed by six sun’s methylation,
There once was an otherworldly champion
A radioactive warranter of biomass atomization,
Gluttingly devoured by time’s ununseptium aberration.

The directorial angels fell discolored in risen malediction;
Gravitating around blissful sins like freaks in perdition
Their wings got shattered in removable benediction,
The overdressing halos are lacerated by muse’s hair flailing castigation.

Humans’ pasty meat, deep within the boiling cauldrons, protested in exaltation…
They brightly decay in mellow tastes, entombed in a gastronomical exhibition:
Served with fresh eucalyptus and squirmingly howling creepers, grieving onion,
And tail of a Nemean lion.

Interword an echo haunts his mind’s infinite space with a babbler of a question:
“To enjoy the durableness of the tainted aromas with corrupted passion,
Do I choose the creamer or the pint option?”

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