The time that it takes to bless the people, the places

The pace is very nearly standing tall at being still – and she cannot manage to make her fine mind up anymore. Abhorring what has become deliberately impossible. With a fat gut and no way home but for to take that standing Stanley blade, proceed at bleeding, pl-ease. Makes it so much easier.

Her true beauty a thing of two people, sprinting from the ageless face of no other. The rhyme made up its mind a fair while ago, a whole lot of neanderthal nonsense midst gently caressed and sizably paused happenstances – restless dances with only ever itself for frozen-faced company. Should have wished for a better existence. Writing to nobody but for the bare-knuckle fight calls it her life put upon fire

She has a bullet and she is about to place her head between the size and the shape