Plastered hypocritical word-worshipper, she endlessly, brainlessly veers near the edges of ransacked reasoning – to hold her own insipidly estranged, trained tongue strenuously, tenuously hostage is to be remarkably well kept as such a secretive individual can only ever treasure and let themselves become

Problematic environs midst catastrophic misbehaving’s and she leans in to feel the far-reaching screams cradled still by the framing of his wailing face for designated description, simply deceit-filled what she managed herself to achieve within the bounds of their chosen New Orleans ‘playpen’ – a path to torturous destruction will thanklessly on one person’s part, happily on the other cursed being’s, build a place wherein disaster strikes every single incessant minute

With minutiae detail gathered to wail, and he seems to be so suddenly teaching himself to enjoy these things

How though, can what hurts one’s soul so very much make a man like him dream again – while at the pit of his ending he screams sweet vitriol against her mistaken face, when he imagines the upside down angel this tumultuous time reincarnate

Can’t she feel it, that the mistakes are where everything bounces back to life?