She sure does tremble like a timbal when she speaks, trying to remember how to align it all
Seems this particularly choked conversation has fallen upon rather saddening times – a courteous coffee and a flagrant cigarette might just tweak her back into place, for a severe and altogether necessary moment at least, the freeze-frame feast swimming all too haphazardly amidst the languished famine
Her only real memories right about now
This is a living, bleeding disgrace and she absolutely gets to see it
Her wits are remarkably well split and her friends about as far removed from topic as you can ever imagine
Tragedy comes in many a maddening guise, prising your homegrown inadequacies right open before you seem to even know it, let alone so much as goddamn feel it
This weakened flow all-consuming, resuming itself every other haphazard day, in a notoriously manic nutshell of mind-boggling sorts
Where’s the fucking straw that broke the camel’s back?
She really ought to learn how to learn how to fix these things
When she fails to catch that sudden chance, watches herself become incredibly distanced – safe to say that perhaps she’s had her last dance
With the devil might be quite nice, a slice of something, not nothing for once
Of course, she will have to admit to having had a meticulous hand in all of this
However agonising it may tend to make itself appear to be by the seriously burgeoning end
When she depends upon wayward hope above all else

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