The clouds provide the rain that I drink. I admire the puddles that I helped to create. The rock misses the squirrel by a few inches. If I was that bird, I'd attempt to peck the squirrel's eyeballs. How long before it's dry again. A fire must burn. The flames flicker beneath my hand. The callus will melt away.
The stars move only when I do. God is communicating with me. Daylight arrives too soon. The buzzing of the bees concerns me. WD-40 weighs heavily on them. I stomp to end the suffering.
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