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I'll do this later
Barry Senter liked the truth.
This one time, long go. A specimen crossed paths with a beast.
“Lo, men were created to become more.. why hast stagnation, lores told and holy jesters cackle. Golden tongues broken in blood.” The beast was fierce, gazing upon it's likeness was a no no bruh, twenty two feathered eyes emblazoned clocktowers of mist.
Barry was unlike most. But more.
His demeanor took a left turn. Laid down his hefty blade.
“Warship The Saint.” He spat dry brown blood onto a deceased fool.
“Gifted to me… nay. Taken by combat from my mentor. A very thirsty demon. Her soul was captured in wicked orgasm that day, death was the named she screamed. Over.. and over. And… now I own her. And she cuts like a wicked bitch. I demand you beast. Show me to your god. Or suffer.”
Taking into account the fact that the blade Barry wielded weighed more than most regrets, the beast moved aside like a straight bitch.
“I hate pity.”
Those were words. Worse those were verse, if possible to emote the way the sound barrier broke was blamed on blokes not accustomed to hope. The word spoke by Barry before he broke..
Spinal cord disks, mercy was dame who broke his heart.
Tomorrow is for pussies.
Take three deep breaths.
Chapter two
Barry …
Center didn't know anyone.
Not really. For real a deal by any other name is still a rose.
The scent of a criminal made some men mad. Barry never lost
Uh
Barry never lost his cool.
Ok so this one dame named Fame the Flames danced her way onto a kerosene stage sporting the better days.. we remember.
She was a made bitch. Ya dig? Bulletproof status on blocks she was akin to killers who ran numbers back when abacus es was us.
Follow
Barry took two shots of the worst and placed a palm upon the bar.
“Two shots of whatever you hate for us.. for the fallen. Two rounds of shots for the survivors. Bottom shelf.”
This is the part where a casket was discovered at the bottom of a flaming bog.
Inside were thrice.
A winters man's pipe.
A bloody nailed scraping ton roof.
The trut#.
See.. mate. There was this second time.
Someone saw this
Barry Center entered the pub with a new swagger. His futbol club had lost the game but hurt or possibly murdered the opposition. Or maybe it was rugby.
Games blur. We play
Anyway
Senter
© All Rights Reserved
This one time, long go. A specimen crossed paths with a beast.
“Lo, men were created to become more.. why hast stagnation, lores told and holy jesters cackle. Golden tongues broken in blood.” The beast was fierce, gazing upon it's likeness was a no no bruh, twenty two feathered eyes emblazoned clocktowers of mist.
Barry was unlike most. But more.
His demeanor took a left turn. Laid down his hefty blade.
“Warship The Saint.” He spat dry brown blood onto a deceased fool.
“Gifted to me… nay. Taken by combat from my mentor. A very thirsty demon. Her soul was captured in wicked orgasm that day, death was the named she screamed. Over.. and over. And… now I own her. And she cuts like a wicked bitch. I demand you beast. Show me to your god. Or suffer.”
Taking into account the fact that the blade Barry wielded weighed more than most regrets, the beast moved aside like a straight bitch.
“I hate pity.”
Those were words. Worse those were verse, if possible to emote the way the sound barrier broke was blamed on blokes not accustomed to hope. The word spoke by Barry before he broke..
Spinal cord disks, mercy was dame who broke his heart.
Tomorrow is for pussies.
Take three deep breaths.
Chapter two
Barry …
Center didn't know anyone.
Not really. For real a deal by any other name is still a rose.
The scent of a criminal made some men mad. Barry never lost
Uh
Barry never lost his cool.
Ok so this one dame named Fame the Flames danced her way onto a kerosene stage sporting the better days.. we remember.
She was a made bitch. Ya dig? Bulletproof status on blocks she was akin to killers who ran numbers back when abacus es was us.
Follow
Barry took two shots of the worst and placed a palm upon the bar.
“Two shots of whatever you hate for us.. for the fallen. Two rounds of shots for the survivors. Bottom shelf.”
This is the part where a casket was discovered at the bottom of a flaming bog.
Inside were thrice.
A winters man's pipe.
A bloody nailed scraping ton roof.
The trut#.
See.. mate. There was this second time.
Someone saw this
Barry Center entered the pub with a new swagger. His futbol club had lost the game but hurt or possibly murdered the opposition. Or maybe it was rugby.
Games blur. We play
Anyway
Senter
© All Rights Reserved
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