Fully Armed.
I have my words, tangled and solid and fearless. The words of grandeur and destruction and birth. The tongue being father and the pen being strength. My fist has placed wooden words upon pedestals for students or listeners and raised the breeze words to the sky so that the people will freeze. My words have butchered voices of skill and complex. I’ve taken men to knees and poured their tears to my cup to drink like juices in spring. Lime and tang touches reason in my mouth and amongst teeth. I am steady like a wolf. My prestigious pounce onto social order, I am quiet and ready. Inside this geographical wonderland is a box, so far and small between feathers and sand. This is my box, my home. I’m preserving a child of innocence and sin. Inside this chest, a child, this kid is wicked and displaced away from touch. Nor does it grin with tender skin. But with my words I can give life to the skip and trudge ways and good witches to come bless and breathe kisses into the muscles of this baby with no soul. A delicious tickle. I have my words. I will save us all.
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