The open annals of man's dreams. The starving of his belly is the key. His memories everlasting rise from their ashen tombs, the bright flash of sulphur touched to wick and wax. He breathes lighter, his body rests, snores while awake. The refreshment he devised has worked, but he fears his Hyde. Lucky him, just a matter of time, painful phantasms mock and jeer. The color missing, none but contrasts remain. No line, no web, no spider. His sponge is full to bursting, slops off the excess and the new in one motion. The descent is enlightening as it is dulling.
>>9716593
Hunger?
>>9716610
oh it's not a riddle, sorry, should have put it in the "write what's on your mind" thread.
>>9716614
I meant the book but it's ok.
It might just be me, but you shouldn't start a paragraph with a sentence fragment.
>>9716593
pleb.
>>9716593
i feel it
u did good anon
>>9716593
>anal
>>9716593
that's the guy from home alone who shovels the walks. legend has it he uses the salt to preserve his victims
>>9716624
Fragments. Nothing wrong with them.
>>9716624
interjections. you must mean