Jan 31
You are disgust in its entirety, made to have a voice.
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Poland
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from Algeria
seen from Venezuela
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Taiwan
seen from Maldives
seen from Bulgaria
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
You are disgust in its entirety, made to have a voice.
Eternally tired of water-logged annoyances.
your meadow's weather has the mood swings of a temperamental monkey. have you ever considered doing anything to fix that? I doubt your pretty little wile-flowers will be able to breathe beneath the smoldering heat.
Your swamp must be severely disgusting for your thoughts to linger so heavily on my pretty meadow. Whether the sun chooses to shine down upon the grass with extreme love is unimportant, for the flowers survive whatever they are given. Does your pathetic drowned place even see the sun through the horrid mass of clumped-together trees?
Visitors to my lovely flower-filled greenery, please ignore The Swamp Monster.
I sincerely doubt anything would echo in the amalgamation of artifice grass and buds you call a meadow.
In the open air, all can hear my calls. But what of your simple and disgusting swamp? Can people there even be heard through the slime that undoubtedly fills their mouths whenever they breathe in?
what use will chess have when the memory of your very being dies out?
The echos of the board wars I will fight against opponents more worthy than yourself will ring beyond the memory of my existence
do you not agree that you need not flesh nor bone for your soul to experience decay? for when the physical being of a person is lost, all that is left is the half-known memories of despair and love — are these stains left on the fabric of the universe not enough to prove our existence?
My soul is decayed enough to act as a wonderful fertiliser for the many illegal plants I grow, so flesh and bones are certainly not needed for moral decline! Let’s not assume that the fleshless and boneless cannot also fall to damnation! Anyone can sin! Rude to assume otherwise. Sin is for all.
Dreadfully rude to call me half-known memories of despair and love. I’m also great at chess. There’s that, too.