Her sophomore eyes, his kindly demise – ages for stages, dearest baby features
 
Midst these theatrically incriminating times, which have been endlessly realigning themselves ’til getting to inevitably changing … ’til undeniably mapping themselves right the way back to getting to dastardly happening
 
In these people’s vicarious lifestyles of many – the rich and famous die with no legacy left to penetrate the wain
 
Tenfold and boldly, blighty alive ’til delightfully accustomed to this promisingly promiscuous adult-ery again …
 
They don’t even know where ever to go anymore, do they though!?
 
These peacock-wearing, hirsute, unpardonably fractured versions of these problematically inexpressive imbeciles, who dress-up to go out of their very own narrow-minded ways – we play games with our hearts that don’t even seem to play the same games anymore, never know how to start the engine yet we gobble the petrol … while beginning to bargain with the two-inched emptiness that lies Upstairs inside
 
Of our bungalow-brains
 We watch the very same people who don’t even know their real names anymore, needlessly blaming the snide underbelly, yes!?
 
Digressing to make magnificently senti-mental sense of something so very time-shy as it were …
 Never the same, baby features – and we appear to be just two sides of the very same three-faced, reimbursed, glimmer-surfaced coin
 
Financially, we are back-against-the-walls worrying for absolutely nothing all that monu-mental –  writing with our minds as supposed to our imperfectly protruding hands of many
Tenfold and boldly, blighty alive ’til delightfully accustomed to this promisingly promiscuous adult-ery again
Yes, the Zen is in the break of the gender-less, slenderness pen.