The place wherein her sins and her demons go to pour sore so it speaks in imprisoning uncompromising paragraphs and she says what she feels all of it rather fucked up at being fair gloriously instilled. Still attempts to make sense of the nonsensical and they are coming in their hardwiring droves poka-nosed and try as they might not manage to contend with at manhandling her favourite nature. Up sticks and proceed at bargaining with a better piece til thieving it all back together for one first time.
Sad overestimated eyes the girl who has sprinted across the whole of the surface of the sun’s smile and fails at feeling it for itself herself any more than the next sad and exasperated person should do. Sabre-tooth and divisively dividing they are sprinting every which way and failing at bringing it into a place of quarrelling make-belief. There are too many words too many failed ways at a punishing route brought back towards the wishful order for unanimously proceeding midst the most incredulous pieces of each of this seen-to-be.
Upstanding and witnessing painting, failing falling footnotes of his. At finally processing it all she is tired and undeniably asphyxiated and reckless with her crashing art not to mention the mere pain in her shuddering brain that should have mattered the most. Taking her favourite best bohemian attire and swiping it across the shape of her commendable body she cries hard unasked for tears the writer’s the artist’s seemingly so favourite places to go
Problematic and entirely mixed up within itself however fully-clothed they will still persist to whisper and whip it right off of her back.
The hard sell the fast-tracking the bombarding people who want a piece of her pretty scripture both withheld miserly within and outside for herself too. How hard can it possibly be to be the greatest knowing artist the perfectly imperfect girl who owns parts and pieces of the made-up world for imagining it all in a comfortable constant nutshell. She is poorly at this thing these insinuating wine-fed events and yet the quivered lip beauty who wears the rather desirable aside rather downright wired and reckless attire still insists readily steadily at that aforementioned of course which led itself in and always should have been mentioned.
The square-eyed bespectacled blonde bombshell masterclass who tore itself in two from between her hurtful nocturnal instances wherein everything everything everything and every other plagiarised and playful person who can can can… run run run. And roll roll roll.. stroll stroll stroll…
Til suddenly utterly under-controlled. Yes still managing to take her crashing hands and forbidden thumbnails bringing constant chaos to a place wherein. It still breathes even if there will be far more meaningless whispers mother fucked up punishable whimperings because these poisonous-faced people know nothing much more anyway for themselves. And it must’ve done to shudder her sound glass-tissue soul to know that this has all of it been an imbalanced piece of unmitigated brilliance.
And that she paints harder than any other person can and shall do as though the same very writer who broke their brain and attempts to still process in all of their make-belief. Not nearly writing nor painting to be good enough anymore but rather for their brains to silence that pain and for they both to suddenly become normal run-of-the-mill people who paint shitty little commonplace portraitures of their favorite-best-friends when there is nobody else left but for those who swear by the mediocrity of their art and lie through the shape of their guarded gritted guaranteeing minds again. And neat little sentences scribbled so hellishly and repentant that they might just rather to go back to abstract.
Belonging nowhere else really but for the comfortably unknown cigarette smoke with the eyes of the world put upon fire she is trying to control the divide… to go somewhere wherein her tears have never swum at before. Comfortably uproarious and probably all par for the glass ceiling process by the commonplace posthumously persistent insistent ending. Where ever were her secretive best-favourite-friends though?
Asking the needling needy skyline whilst he arises his eyesight and they start to do it all together again misshapen yet unmistakable.
Meant to mean something.
Even if they can’t and shan’t ever manage at seeing it for itself.
Themselves – and the matter of speaking resolutely within the shape of the cracked looking glass utensil bothers to behave midst utter apprehension guided heavily right by.. caffeinated opinions and crashing uncontrollable desk-smashed opiates and the gently capturing nature of an aforementioned tendering cigarette smoke.
Choking poking fun at the other person’s favourite best masterpiece even if once again and contrary to unpopular belief as ever… nobody will ever reach to feel it speak for itself. Wasn’t meant to be that exact way. If only they should see it.