THE SKY ISN'T BLUE =]

"Thine words are frayed and broken, thrust surely not in an adequate state?" He had shook the other, with his frightful speech, shaken, doth with an admiration such a courage to unravel, as a simple flowering bloom, unfurling leaves. to such a courteous order in which to permeate the fragile insect's small ramblings about the snaking greenery; leeching to the fence and the wrought gates of steel, chipped edges simmering and in the watered new sun. - It, stretching out its gaping palm to caress the tangled far off rock of the horizon. But he remained silent, wishing quietly for the words too often on the other's lips dissipate, and wane forever into the rushing waters of the banks. The sickness, however, was returning to him, he promptly excused himself, embarrassed by the sudden onslaught of what he knew the other failed to perceive. However still embarrassed he was. In such a hastily manner, he drew the syringe, a quick exhalation before sticking it in his own flesh. It seeped, scrawling as a crude painting, a field dotted with fiendish soldiers, grumbling along as fair brilliant swords stung the waxing clouds of the heavens, drawing a tear from the scarred once - blue; marking the sorrowful and repulsive tendency toward human nature all things of the sky held in full.