Combed rather wonderfully – colour in time, oceanline moonlight plied right across the centre of pitch dark hair
Eyes which make you swim inside, albeit entirely flailing for your nine-to-five life at the exact same time – ain’t the water ’tis the boredom taking hold
Seems you’d far rather drown, die and come back again than miss this particularly peculiar diving board of tempestuous animosity
Her tattooed universe always and a night resolutely opting upon cold shouldering the weakened purse – no such mannerisms necessary here
Steer your lipstick-stained finger-fists left, right and centre all over again
This shock-absorbed life nothing but a guaranteed playpen of trash-ended sorts for you, my Fight Club girl
You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake, you are but a sharp-ended rake through the rather hardened blades of my each and every day

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