A whistling whisper, a creative forethought
The wild roses rise and bare the most – silly little juxtasupposed Girl who should’ve, could’ve, owned her wide world
Gilded in maleficent gold, world owns her the most – wasted til predisposed and all that we shall ever get to do with ourselves is to stand and watch to witness her alter-ego’d delivery
Her wide-eyed arrival midst this plagiarised drivel
And there was just one such writer to light her soul – as easy as speaking with your very best friend of an unaccustomed Sunday brunch-day
By the quake / the shake / the thistle n’ thorn break of the following morning’s malfunctioning yawn
If only she’d let herself listen to the bargaining beginning beneath the basement of her inanely multi-malfunctioning brain

Simply smiling to meet her and that’ll do fine thank you
Enough now, ’twas always but enough – these people but peripheral afterthoughts midst undeniable brilliance
Her as much as him, while they go their separate ways … Although, he needed her as much for her brain as her inner beauty needed him

Yes, you can keep your mask on now

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