By the guise of a thousand lesser known individuals, indeed, she shall manage to bury the hatchet – all past rambunctious misgivings of sophomore, soaked-to-bone, dutifully meticulous, ‘specially fabricated from fashion and no less stressed for it beautifully promiscuous hers
and soar,
crazily akin to how her mammothly astute imaginings ramble quite heavenly amidst this extra-peculiar thing
On and on…
and oh so wonderfully fucking juxtaposed forth – s’pose she asked for all of everything swarmed once upon all around crying-shamed nothingness… …
this bloodied, sweat-strewn, pockmarked, -sparked sword
has been rightfully placed by her stupendously upsightly side, devil-horned/blessedly kept oceanic blue, star-spangled eyes
settled –
to never ever again neglect, stretched outlandishly, land-escaped conversationally upon the prize of a lifeline
No rhythm, no bashfully sent rhyme, wanton necessity for instru-mental destruction, this tuck-on-in-unfathomable
just Must
turn out to be extra-spectacularly frickin’ Fantastical
High-fired insane,
You taste the pitiless flame,
while she wines ‘n’ dines
fair prettily predisposed to all of This
Finally,
Narrow//dark-shadow//Alexa Chung hung-dry aside worn-out model-esque eyes//no less prioritised//altogether marvellously aligned…
’til unashamedly, slender-legged She vivaciously takes to committing these memory-quaking, double-entendre-stirred crimes
She pines for you, Chris
Like never aforementioned before, she the expungiated, about to be inevitable black ‘n’ white, tow-the-line buxom-breasted whore
We do deplore her via our girlish giggles and envious streak alone – speak in jealous tongues, Medusa-style fiery-hair golden and disgustingly gilded atop agonised and shallow alabaster eyes
Of
Our
Pilthy
blink-and-we-miss-it own
