He sits with his worst pressed, depressed memories none too delightfully intermingled midst this shrieking mind of lonely his, when one such brutalised childhood lends itself over to a wandering war amongst miserably miserly people – the rip-torn whole of this nastily captured, dastardly enraptured world of ours has helplessly, haplessly transformed itself into a deconstructed and misshapenly venomous place of weaponry wonders

And his shy and deathly accustomed people have become brutally under-utilised and, time again, far, far bloodier versions of their better selves, begging to eat whilst neglecting to ever really breathe again

The malnourished multi-task is an ask all of its own, prone to bouts of flagrant misbehaviour and we cannot ever really blame them for their mis-chosen downfalls

Sad, sad aside undeniably crying individuals – something absent just has to happen, needs to scream and to finally give itself over to utter reconstruction of a most improbable kind of kindly

Take fearless flight, oh horrendous existence of mine
Wherein there is a will, we shall attempt against all of our living, seething enemies to re-instil these fabricated instances of permitted and outright imaginatively magnificent ours again

We have turned ourselves inside-out invisible for one sole/soul reason only… to pose a threat when all of your barriers are down and we get to pound the pavements of our pedestrian beings again

When yesteryear was oh so very pretty

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