We were absolutely all of everything when they came along and fair discerningly turned our world right the whole way upside-down
All upon the carefully negligent change-over from one greed-stricken palm to another of a few too many grease-ridden coins
Shackled rather than pile-driven per se, all of this about to agonisingly occur with the additional atrocity of perilous time – too much of that to ever try and truly count
Woken up at an ungodly hour, your manically problematic legs – beaten to within an inch – ceaselessly tossing and turning themselves ’till falling upon the lowliest moon known to any man
They simply permitting you all of nothing amidst this, your harrowing existence
Attempting as best you can nonetheless, failing entirely to catch your utterly flailed breath – condensation rendering you almost insane, try as you might to etch a name out of nothing
Cotton mouth, excruciatingly split wits, an ego about to lose it’s very own necessary existence – become a surefire crackling shell of itself
A threat to the ungifted system of your every single being
From magical to utter unimaginable tragedy in all of one day multiplied by an uncountable amount
Catastrophic
Minion-men – bare-naked all of their own – far more needless in their ego-driven instance, strutting carelessly about this haphazardly organised, not to mention decrepit place
Nasty bat at hand – nails shouting for a place to stay every which way – as though owning your each and every waking hour
Because, seemingly, they just did
Cold shouldering your now entirely wrong-way-round face
When do we ever get to see you again
So
Much
As
Never,
Perhaps!!?
These masters-in-disguise – prising wickedly inept situations, done away with smiles, drawing redder than-red-blood on out of you courtesy of ungodly makeshift whips
You do pray for the noose, that sudden crunch to silently sound all of it out
Stripped to the very core, backbone muscles slowly but oh so surely wittingly floored
Nobody can handle that, least of all Master Epp’s fiercely addictive lady-in-waiting – namely Patsy
At least on his wanderlust, most loathsome and eerily beneficial part
One hundred lashes to the dry and scalded field of her adolescent back and you are forced once more to see her name splayed all of the way across the crass floor
In young blood all of her own

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