The Word of the Day is:

Moustache

I lay, disrobed bare to my senses Preparing to catapult myself o'er her fences Bypassing any of her magical defenses Through dreams And sans my clothes The catapults tango wild, with flame The ballistae now are much the same The poison arrows now look tame But that's what strikes your heart Flying stones can break your skull And dash your frame against a wall The flames within them consuming all But poisoning is an art It lacks the flash. The grand pizzazz. It's smooth like blues, where flames are jazz. But that counts for nothing. What it has Is victory from the start My cat, a pelt. The damage, dealt. I can't describe the sadness felt... But still, I'm thankful. Just because... This is the SOFTEST pair of gloves!
	Catapults Caked in concrete Corroding corpses covered in Cold peat What war was won, Who's victory? We wouldn't want to know

Reviews

[Papaya]

I like all of these.
I like the first one best.
Poor Buttons

[Dripping Chocolate Madness]

Oh that cat deserves NO sympathy!
snuck into my home under the pretense it was an adorable GIRL cat...
He's lucky I havent turned him into a midnight snack, yet.

[Papaya]

There's a way to check for that stuff you know.

[Dripping Chocolate Madness]

...
y-yeah
...