Powerfully inebriated, she smothers her daughter’s last hurrah via these pulmonary hallucinations, which will never get themselves to resting – that ungodly dropping, downward still, of a shrouded casket and its very own replicated distaste and mirrored by a fiercely felt lack of outright fullness.

A briar red rose posed at the little polka nose whilst her troubled husband acts the unfeasible maggot by way of over-sophisticated mannerism: his mumbled words, this vomit-inducing ‘pride’ of tear, and nothing left to remain yet an eerily pierced ventilation, which secretively both suggestively whispers …

Yes, all systems appear to have been these desperately blasted reawakenings pushed agonisingly against that … of a deathly mirroring of a once-upon-a-marvellously reimagined past.