usurped and aware, as to the utter possibilities for now. never nervous, always fighting, wholly withstanding something which cuts at the core – born beautiful and riotously ransacked, a flipped aphrodisiac of ultimate comeuppance aside ulterior agony. her eyes are rightfully his, meaningful, majestic and often otherworldly directed towards: the soul that softly suggests… for times to comfortably cry out loud and hostilised.

and a naked needle bleeds, mercilessly. turned towards constrained agony… these are her daughter’s slaughtered arms. welcoming itself to The Dance With Death: didn’t take that long, did it?