I eat gas, make it more heavy. When I die, I'm an old Chevy.

I've a handsome carriage, but not a one horse; I've a pretty ribbon, but lack for tresses; My cousin in Chicago prefers ballistic force; My keys are many, but they ward nothing precious.

In the heart of every home, where stories intertwine, a patchwork quilt of love, stitched with threads divine.

Silent but viral, a digital whisper bouncing through timelines, bringing laughter or groans, a picture worth a thousand bytes.

Am I white on black Or black on white? The world may never know