Crying from such an incredible angle
Beneath the candelabra
Holding on for Dear Life 
If only she could write a letter, because that is exactly what you do when you barely know someone
Something in this instance
Already pock-marked, amazing really, a dire case of Benjamin Button perhaps
She’d take the rewind with open arms right now
Like candy from a baby
A spirit severely untouched, a little or a lot too early to grasp all that she might just deserve
Ghastly mother, unkempt – post-natal
Rather nasty, really
Quivering, shaking, a loose cannon, oven gloves at hand
Taking after father rather than daughter, too depressed to know any better
A hollow mind with holes all over, unable to lend a cold shoulder
Misdirected, very nearly folding the dishes
Baby stops and stares, looking, searching, longing for as little as a wing and a prayer
Father interrupts, leans on over, an entirely different kind of shoulder, hope as opposed to cold if only for a while
Glass-eyed smile, so far off sober, taking her to aside amid the silent din going on outside not in
Dipping a whiskey-stained finger at the tip of her lip
Fruitful albeit dangerous, seems it’s all in the genes
Ill-equipped
Two addled parents who turned out way to keen right from the very beginning
I’m the next-door neighbour and I can tell you this, I’ve seen it all before
Just seven baby steps and I get to knock on that door

Crying from such an incredible angle
Beneath the candelabra
Holding on for Dear Life 
If only she could write a letter, because that is exactly what you do when you barely know someone
Something in this instance
Already pock-marked, amazing really, a dire case of Benjamin Button perhaps
She’d take the rewind with open arms right now
Like candy from a baby
A spirit severely untouched, a little or a lot too early to grasp all that she might just deserve
Ghastly mother, unkempt – post-natal
Rather nasty, really
Quivering, shaking, a loose cannon, oven gloves at hand
Taking after father rather than daughter, too depressed to know any better
A hollow mind with holes all over, unable to lend a cold shoulder
Misdirected, very nearly folding the dishes
Baby stops and stares, looking, searching, longing for as little as a wing and a prayer
Father interrupts, leans on over, an entirely different kind of shoulder, hope as opposed to cold if only for a while
Glass-eyed smile, so far off sober, taking her to aside amid the silent din going on outside not in
Dipping a whiskey-stained finger at the tip of her lip
Fruitful albeit dangerous, seems it’s all in the genes
Ill-equipped
Two addled parents who turned out way to keen right from the very beginning
I’m the next-door neighbour and I can tell you this, I’ve seen it all before
Just seven baby steps and I get to knock on that door

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