Is, This, It?

All that there was and has to have been – needlessly, needfully = uttermost drivel and drain-locked portrayal to next to nowhere insane

But for a heavily accosted … high-wired, -firing Holocaust victim with disgust near grinning, grinding teeth midst unutterable persuasion

Her mind has finally, none too expected-ly realigned with the brand bland new times – an ear-ache, a shudder, a behemoth scream, a scram and bare-naked shake of her down n’ crowded to the core shy-locking system – miserly and been forever sucked right the way out to the other black-shadowed side and miserable genie get yourself out from underneath the bottle please, a child has been reaching out from far beneath the happy in-between

Shackled amidst lucratively blamed – bare-footed and rather agonisingly shamed, til her seething system bargained upon something rigorously real again

All that she is left with is
This meandering and dedicated, dutifully disgusted pen – driven in red-ribboned ink right by the borrowed bleed
of her malcontent being

Right the entire way out courtesy of the fantastically estranged inner-within – tongue tied and she had no clue as to her next probable move

Shake it right out til she resounds to the rightful beginning of her nocturnal being again …

When, Play-Pretend, Was, Deliriously, Easy.
And Santa-Claus was all that she’d to wait for, when nothing but utterly delightful consternation wrestles restlessly within

His handheld moustache wasn’t so bad now, was it?
T’was Hitler who made you scream … and no-one real

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