A broken, golden, godlike sun shines both happy and hard

Seems she needs somewhere to be, but she cannot quite get right around the river right in front of me…

To come from someplace unmatched, someplace utterly mixed-up within constant dashes, dabs of shark-eyed paint

That meaningful meandering… the bend in the ox, the bow, these highfalutin lakes freeze and sincerely quake

The call of the impenetrable albeit highly penetrated canvas constantly crawls in her concentrated direction, and at its own worldly level of high-end discretion indeed…

Of course, the use of manoeuvring multi colours is second only ever to this particular artist’s living, breathing wish to vacuously adhere to all of the secretive noises which swirl and swan-dive jovially within

Seems she’s been lividly creating – colossal art that ultimately matters the most amid her burgeoning and twisted world of fisticuffed people who carry with them fists-for-fingers and shrewdly fight to simply survive

Remain upright sprightly and inevitably alive

Heavier, weaker – wanderlust
These worldly wanderings of hers, those fair celebratory creative instances which abruptly bring with them… perfectly insolvent… situations

Seems she’s been creating exceptional art to match both weight and shape of her soaring heart

Begging for the balance back and forever withstanding all of the horrendous upset versus undeniable happiness shines like a broken, God-like, try-hard sun whilst, all awhile, everyone else has been avidly watching the weight of her worried fingers ceaselessly create…

Impenetrable magnificence yet again…
A penny for her travelling thoughts and she’d be the richest, most travailed person the world over

She’s not alone – cut to the bones of beautiful
Surfs amidst the tidal waves of Pearl Creation, she thinks, she sinks like a sensational harpoon against the two-tiered heart starts all over again

These bubbles which hang like the sweetest of footnotes above her bright-white-beautiful head – one above another and she gets to go again…

About to swim with her favourite best demons
Inside of next century’s favourite best legacy. No guilty party anymore

But for the weight, the shape of her favourite best excellency which leans argumentatively against
A foregone conclusion, her favourite best whispering liquor store invites itself in again…

To endlessly create
From the inside out… she took the medicine and she went missing

Hanging her favourite best speech bubble near the eye of the sky(line)… finger on the pulse of imagination till carried away with a swarm of warm bees

Yes, this will sting
When she fell in love with the weight, the shape of her favourite best face

Turning the speakers up to full blade she dances upon fire – with the demons left to DJ inside of her servitude dreams, she will resist everything but for the balanced source of paragraphed magnificence

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