These people stand downright precariously
Willingly so, in fact
Carrying a rather unnatural ability to turn everything on its absolute knife-edge – to utterly up-ship, worm on in, strip us of all of our once fairytale, outright heroic surroundings
Earning none of it whatsoever
Pounding constantly atop our stop-start hearts over and over again
Never-ending albeit with an equally delicate tapestry at hand, surprisingly so
Our wicker-work shoulders try as they might to hold their very own
They taking our rather feathersome necks and twisting them fair evenly into petrifying submission
An agonising crack at a forlorn time, there is no real rhyme, no honest-to-goodness reason
Regretful existences within a freeze-frame minute
Dangerous admittance by the end on their joker-smiled, deceitfully made-up part altogether, sounding us typically right the entire way out
With a silently instigated finger pressed once more fair evenly against our each and every trembling lip

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