To step inside the mind of a crucified model – her up all night unofficial antidotes, remote and vacuous moments of people-pleasing resilience. A “body beautiful” brought to its screaming knees, all eyes male-inclined and turned tempestuous and towards her under qualified mind. Momentarily at ease, begging itself please… SWEET SIXTEEN… to unremain this pause-a-while way? If only. Much elderly ladies sitting fair effervescently in these wantaway wings with their flower embroidered garments gathered at the obliging knee-piece. No peace, certainly not lying within these aforementioned men’s maelstrom of brain: to think a thousand-and-one lonely, livid, breathing things is to disgracefully imagine it all in full lust and under deceptive lock and key.

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