tin bullets

The wonderful and exciting world of falling raindrops. How astounding! How pretty! Individual and glimmery tiny little beads of joy. Splashed to the earth and eventually soaked thru to oblivion, incandescent splatters of mud and tires and goodbye.

So long! Sayonara, folks! The lunacy of lost matters.

Oh the raindrops are still there, playing lightning metal guitar in frozen time, but dangerous objects, fighting the tides against the water, such as air and fire come to dry them out with loose blades to their necks, the water dissolved to the earth, no more, finito, their whispery, crackling red and orange fingers leaving a scorched trail on the faces of these raindrop spirits in memory and they dissolved to chaos, rupturing the paradigm of a cognizant and buoyant system.

the bubble popped. they ceased to be, giving the effects of their atomic structures to other, more principled matters.

Be that as it may, thank you.

What was left of these ashen tongued monstrosities, tasting the bitter dust of dried out bones? They dispersed within lightning cracks and thunderous chasms.