These eyes have been left to endlessly cry
All of their own rather inept accord
Wayward would indeed be a nice compliment albeit of a seriously lying kind
Sent to soar all of the way over
Pouring ridiculously so on through each and every last part of her otherwise immaculate everything – when addiction fails to take anything else into account
Here she will sit every other day – pock-marked caffeine at hand, black lipstick-stained cigarette courageously infecting the other
Attempting as she might to warm these incredibly hardened cockles
Failing to neglect, so much as wholeheartedly reject these decrepit sands of time that can all too easily manage to constantly corrupt her every single being
Fire in the Russian belly finally drenched entirely
A yo-yo existence with no self-admittance
Permitting only one last drop
She’d much prefer the mid-evening wine – Pinot Grigio per se
All kinds of nonsense happening right here
Lashings of furthermore turmoil opting on raining down, one soliloquy/cliche saddened eye relatively fixated upon the Penny Farthing a-yonder
Which will only ever get to be peripheral
A clown’s utmost important go-to point
Quirky if nothing else, bless her cotton ballet socks
Nonetheless, drowned-out inside of her seemingly forever-chair
Bejewelled to fool all of no-one really
Fair distasteful tastes going on all round this eerie and ramshackled place
A lonely existence second only to, you guessed it, none

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