Can We Share Endorphins?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem, confusing to some. But if you wrack your minds you will find the true interpretation.

Submitted: February 04, 2011

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Submitted: February 04, 2011

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Endorphins and testosterone float calmly on the surface of the vast bowl. Swimming and diving, splashing and spraying like an old man who has just injected himself with venomous gastric acids and thus proceeds to drown in his own vomit and urine. Long, thin, grey, spindly legs slowly stride through the red foliage, creating eerie echoes and serenading songs. The blood covered spine slowly rises up, exposing the baron wasteland of skin. Lumps of flesh and bone hung there like small children having their heads pushed into a bath of urine samples. The grey stick shuddered as it gained closer to the sun. Its long, wispy, wet hair lay plastered to its old and wrinkly face. It bore its teeth as it saw the bowl. It looked so inviting. To feed upon endorphins was its only aim in life, and if it could not have them, nobody could. With every stride the cockroaches, embedded in its heart, gave cries of terror and pain, complaining they had been trapped there for weeks. Nobody listened as the greyness swooned through the long grass, spitting and hissing at every gurgling breath it so forcefully in took. The bowl was tipped, the long river of endorphins and testosterone seemed to be endless. But at last the never ending ended. The greyness turned a darker grey. Its bloodshot eyes became bleak and dilated. It reached down to what resembled its penis and tugged forcefully. Dead skin showered off, like kamikaze snowflakes dangerously falling and crushing the sound waves. The greyness returned to its original resting place, long grey legs stretched out like an old finger beckoning the children into a van. That was not the only thing that stretched out, the face was left distorted and bloody. A hammer smashed tomato. The slumping body of grey fell to the ground, releasing excrements and gastric bands. The gun that had so heinously perpetrated the crime also slumped to the ground, releasing shells and the smell of death. The grey mouth lay wide open, a pool of froth and blood began to assemble inside. Endorphins and testosterone float calmly on the surface of the vast mouth. Swimming and diving, splashing and spraying like an old friend who has just pierced his cranium with a lump of lead and thus proceeds to choke on his own creation.


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