Her alabaster ego knows no real way forward but for an intricately set predisposition to whichever chose to posthumously come first – with her frozen-cold pretty tattoo-emblem feet dangled precariously near these trying sands, she takes the ungodly time to somehow learn – God does know how yet cannot quite figure out explaining why – to unwind

She’s been trying at unbelievably reconfigured pace and her blessedly expressive frettle-featured face prays highly on heavenly perched earth above to suddenly feel the whole of the wonderfully settled, dirt-thirsty sun

She knows she is the chosen one… but cannot for the plain outright snide aside improperly misdirected life of her manage to bandage these golden nugget moments back together

One head full of curlier than though curls – persuaded til dissuaded by utterly undeserved corruption – falls distastefully back upon this raging page… and it’s time for the forsaken pen all over again – where her uninterrupted dreams make perfectly nonsensical sense

Still keen, still beating All Of The Odds, only no one sees this rained pain painted by make-believe bliss

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