He sat lower than low on his throne of thread, teaming and bursting with societies of its own, with termite kings managing termite knaves, and a tick who was the outcast.
The kings home was furnished with the most lavish and elaborate curls and bends in history, crafted by the corossive powers of lazyness and neglect, these shapes could never be replicated, not by the finest artist,and over no amount of time, truley his palace was one to be remembered, but never exactly, there was too much to remember, for any one person to record, bottles and papers and fine clothing stretched themselves across the scape, to show this king was consumed in his own wealth.
he sat nestled in his throne, his eyes blinking once white then forever red, to turn to jelly, to turn to the television, to turn to water, and to disapear
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