Cracked torsos and rigid rabbits
What if she seems to let the dine of that dawn wrestle at the crack of her centred being – these ghosts hold their insinuating breaths while fetching things from the inner within
Sorry to say that her eyes have been problematically petrified, by the juxtaposed light – darker than ten-thousand upside-down thunderbolts to the borrowed brain
Do we get to feel her pain? No, not never… turned cold shoulders against the brittle breeze and the haunted house over the ocean wails, all awhile we fail at being human people
Nothing is real anymore, anywhere – but right here beneath the subtle steer
Of her nether region, looking at unforgivably pleasing these lesser men all over again
Prey-pretend. Holding on to hope for her very best friend. Doom impending.
In the ending there is a will, there is a way, yet she fails to say what she has ultimately seen.
Would give it all away for a piece of peace aside distinguished quiet. A brick hammer to the head and these men are d-e-a-d.