According to scripture she may as well have ordered herself a literary concoction of angst and irregular agony – namely the sort which can upset people when they least suspect it. The tantalised times often coated in senseless doses of acrimonious survival by any jammering manner that can cause her lessening senses to survive again.
To transgressively succeed and thrive whilst her characters die…
Their hair pink and their minds back to black again. These beatnik wannabe people with tattoos tracing a-tonne-of-weight against the place where their fallen faces used to be.
Merely co-existing for f-r-e-e and pressed ink-laden inbetween
Each ink-stained page of silenced rage.