Precipitates…

“…somewhere over the rainbow.

I was wondering how I should be feeling now, and I think it’s somewhat peculiar. I feel a little like the tin man and I fear his predicament. It seems to me that the scarecrow was not the one needing the brain in the first place. What sort of lunatic would keep on picking up that axe? I just hope no one else got hurt in the wild swinging that swung far too quick and wide, with hands assured without the slightest sliver of hesitance.

“Swish“

“Chunk.”

I hope the tin smith’s in.”

I feel somewhat annoyed that my useless body’s beginning to hold protests against me now. My skin has begun picketing and raising little red flags all over me, threatening to call in the union and break rank at any moment. Looks like I’m not immune to rust either. Dammit.