Torn tears, sneering people and snide-eyed arisen

Contagious and creative
We are folding our thankless thumbs and by the arms of our burgeoning re-awareness – stood stoic and reimbursed for our whole worth of hurting

The war-wronged, -pronged girl stands misshapen and unhappy with a led red balloon by the banks of her millennial misery : aghast and frightened with star-spangled eyes near her reassembled ears

She’s been listening to the whispering world while she witnesses these plagiarised and problematic people

We are each of us a murmuring mess of hop-scotched over-entitlement and we do appear to mean it, by the early-a.m. reawakening of our Monday morning blues

And it all starts to make less than less kinds of heavenly sense again – what will we ever do if ever given the knife, stood aside a favourite enemy’s favourite life?

Seems to be that the perspective is suddenly shifting and, so very agonisingly soon, we feel imprisoned again

Perhaps this fine and over-utilised piece of dreaded penmanship is the only way out from under beneath – this hot and stressed mess called a dilapidated life less ordinary