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She says the sky is on fire. The blue actually cool hue of the quintessential flame, and clouds: spectators to record the calamity. There are no such things as planes. They are products of chemtrails - governmental spaying and neutering. Airports: kennels/accomplices. She says birds are a dying breed of matchsticks, striking the fuse with the tips of their beaks.

Runaway balloons are the severed grasping hands of children, inflated aspirations set ablaze ‘round campfire songs gone awry.

Kites, are kites. Mostly pointless. Reigned in when fear outweighs risk. But fireflies are real. Embers of tossed cigarettes thrown over cold shoulders. She says either way, we’ll all burn in hell.

Story by:

Daniel Romo

submitted at 4:41pm

9 January 2010

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