They sit there. Eating all facts based on misjudgment and hate. Those gluttonous fools. Staring out the window, watching the sun rise, set; the clouds moving across the blue as cotton in the deep. Watching time go by, people getting older, new forms taking shape, though they stay the same. Portly. They listen to the sick tick-tock of the swift clock. Tick. Tock. It’s three o’clock. How about that, they’re right where they started years ago.

Staring out the glass. They spring upon those least expecting, destroying lives, turning vivid bright into desolation. Those portly fiends. Those parasitic fiends. Latching on to all last hope and sucking it dry, ‘till the well of being dries. Anyone unsuspecting receives them, even you. They cling for days on you, never wanting to let go of the joy you present in your bubbly self, driving you insane, driving you to the maddest places you have ever been on the so-called judgeless planet we know as Earth—home.

Up the wall you go, they follow. No one escapes, unless you don’t believe in their gluttonous, inane fallacies. Stomp on them, jump on them ‘till they bust. Diminish their power ‘till their plump bodies have turned to mush. Burry them deep in the lawn. Relinquish their power and become fat-free. Let the nutrients of judgment replenish the soil; make it new to nature’s pleasure, sprouting a plant of compliments, good gestures. Let the portly fiends disappear from your window sill and look at the cotton, the blue, and the light bulb yourself; get lost in the wonder of freedom from the shackles of the gluttonous statements.