the truth. how i see it.

she wasn't a lion. or anything. but she sat alone picking at her nails on a humble bumbling brook within a tattered dream below the sinking sea amongst the unfriendly. following the trip and falling into the dangerous flowers within a field of concrete. she picked the finest color to dress her naked face and impressed the hobblers walking by. she threw the stones she caught from the hurlers who were hurt and dirty. she had made bananas out of their egos. but then one had come along and told her his was already made of chocolate. because she hated peanut butter.