Bound by the frayed break of the cutthroat noose – and she cuts loose to finally feel this moment in time attempt for itself to insurmountably amount

All out over-indulgent clout and she suddenly sees some way forward

To infuse the remarkable enthusiasm brought to her by utter insatiable, wayward ability… and to imprison it just as such
She didn’t just hit the spot, the knocked the living daylights out of it

And she will sit to summarise via eagle-eyed mindfulness

By the crackle/sun/sparkle of yawning dawn
And settle her seated self again and hold her impenetrable re-awareness for gladdened hostage

A one-eighty turn-of-event

Preparatory girl is ready and eager, to store and to sizeably breathe to soar and undeniably restore
The underbelly of contagion til instilled like Glaswegian wildfire

These rolling hills of ours appear to mean everything sacrilege aside guided by strikingly sacrosanct
Yet these thankful banks of dredged drought, transatlantic for now, bounce back to resilient life

It flickers by her reconfigured glass-eye dereliction, captured it all til unfathomably derogatory – whereby these ferociously non-fictional stories fail to cease and release to realise… til bridging the unkindly divide

Create all the glory and get to retell the whole wide-eyed world

A billion of her less favourable stories
And what is she were to have been given only one weapon, would it really have been the swirled pen!?