All this badness belongs to a better reasoning – a place where memories and mounds of insufficiency fall away to next to nothing
And we tend to finally smile as though no-one’s been watching

And we watch ourselves fall away and at tremendous pace, heavily placed askew and forever going to hope for something far more

A plagiarised rearrangement of affable sorts – the absolute perfectly flawed individual with said hope
Near their tethered heartstrings, an invisible albeit undeniably viable thing of hidden beauty, really

A recklessly real reality
A small child, be it a troubled individual who carries nothing but utter paramilitary behaviour
Or so very much – or as little – as a stricken movie-star

Money does speak with reasoning now and definitely then… all hands on deck either way forth forward prioritised, right?

Or am I wrong, was I perhaps wrong all along… and are we all simply perverted people with dreams which fail to create?

Some further up the ladder than another
All about something coming from seemingly nothing, right?
A stream of decidedly hidden conscience albeit comfortably conscientious of everything misshapen and wonderfully gilded in gold – that, I am sure, will be the far-reaching degree of hope held for righteously comfortable hostage

A rather insane, untamed juxtaposition which will breathe easlier than we might ever begin to let ourselves think

And, may I ask, are we all but these shrinking-violet sensations with too much time on our settled side?
Have to ask, have to laugh – now and definitely then

And the pull of the pink pill remembers me again

Sinking, sinking… thinking… too straight to truly belong

 Is this the paramilitary behaviour which we endlessly beg ourselves to speak of?

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