Hard-as-hell to decipher between being mollycoddled and led mysteriously-both-MISCHIEVOUSLY astray

She doesn’t stub-out her cigarette-smoke ATOP that of an ashtray anymore- but FAR rather’s to do it against(the shaded shapes) of her children’s (sorry) souls

The state of them… there, each individual people/ how THEIR dismantled minds have been electrified to within a safe-keeping pUlSe of Their scaredy-cat beings

Been sleeping inside of ONLY-EVER enough closet/space to (barely-be-able to) swing a CAT, in-fact.

She screams about “This”, about “THAT!!” About the dishevelled taste for Brain/Breaking whisky, simultaneously spread-eagled to within an inch of her self/ABUSED being:

Even if, and WHEN, There IS TOO MANY-a-man involved to ever steer herself in another CeRtAiN direction for now/ not ever, maybe?

The silenced time for filtered discretion may well come IN the middle of

A maniacal, middle-of-the-night nighttime- armoured and loaded with (dutiful doses of) Red, RED W(h)INE

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