To explain a person’s every singular indiscretion, their each of every utter turmoil which lies hazardously within – to take this poise of pen and to figure it all out and by way of intricate both intimate mannerism

Excited to be here, on the reappearance of every other brand new and uniformed day, and these peripheral people will not know exactly what she has had to achieve just to manage to remain eerily upstanding and unafraid

When walls comes crashing down against her sense of scheming intellect, beautiful cities lose their oft obvious and visual appeal – while she sits right here, there, and absolutely nowhere anymore

But for bothered and broken, a pretty face which will ceaselessly emulate another passing person’s sudden deterioration – their self-disinterested mutilation

Mirror-imaged and outlandishly reimagined

Via an antagonised drumroll of erratic irrationality – which will try to describe the insides of their minds, whilst her own dies a little more inside

And to think, the only thing that ever kept her pen from dying was crying eyes.

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