They’re talking to themselves all the damn time; causing the other irregular person to feel a tad little BIG bit mixed-UP. Specifically because they CANnot but –
Bring their mysterious minds back to that gloriously improper plACE of distinguished and TwIsTeD bliss. INDEED
Her mind has unearthed one such eager-faced Way times a million!!
To speak without anyone else ever ACTUALLY needing to witness “her every-next-single LiViD sEeThInG r—e—e—l—i—n—g mistake” he screams it in… equal unison?!
To bend her brutalised, bruised and ShAtterEd legs and to stART ALL OVER AGAIN, her One Soul Aim; above-all-else, a ballet-dancer carries with her these nerves OF STEEL,
even narrower than the slender, hell-sent lips of her masterful “Muse”.
Often, in his very own gentle way of being fair he appears to have officially been
A rather judgementally abusive man of Meandering hands and crane-like arms…
Dangled and dancing of their own chosen accord
And, ONLY in fast forwarded hindsight… ahem, HiLaRiTy does HE believe,
that she will EVER-really righteously REALISE
That ALL THAT HE meant to EVER achieve was “a singular sense of ScintilLATEd portrayal!”
Fed face-first and BEYOND BRAVELY: to the Bolshoi Theatre’s people of lopsided intelligence
Perhaps, in fact… she is Russia’s finest ragamuffin dressed to caress an audited audience’s every next politically InCorRecT breath…
Even if, and when… she’s been walking on dislocated EgGsHeLlS (Yet again)… ‘enthusiastically’ hard-grafting and rigorously attending to ATTEMPT to officially accentuate her very own SINGular SenSe of
A ballet Brain that canNOT but— break its stereotypical way back to the top
“YOU W-I-L-L N-O-T S-T-O-P!!” As his scream now single-handedly identifies itself yet again, as a careening and CapSizEd whisper this time. Barely an egotistical whimper left anymore… but for.. her next UNMISTAKABLY crippled step, about to bruise – her adolescent breath