A Short
Lovecraftian Tale
by Michael S.
Collins
Boy and Girl
met under Cyclopean sky. Something misanthropic
and rugose had happened. Men of science wrote
about it. Slime poured out of the text as if a
glass of water had been spilt. They were hopeless.
And their sanity was in question.
They held each
other close. Partly squamous, they sat close.
Oblivious to the phantasy.
And then
Cthulhu eat them, in tribute to Cliff Burton. The
end.
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