A Wrought-Iron Rose By (just) One Name: Dilapidated Happ!ne$$, Actually. “When We Went So Far Inside Of Ourselves That It Had To Be The Dostoyevskian Delve {of the Century} And NOTHING ELSE”

It seems a tad, shall they admit it, relatively miraculous for its reckless reasoning, this… thing touched with, AND by, UTTER ******G turmoil albeit still

About to make itself feel — up-and-under the Best Of These People of Purely Disenfranchised reckonings indeed. She’s
Been Distancing herself from the Admitted Rest and failing at resting on her undivided, UpSideDoWn laurels actually. We want for nothing no-more / even if it’s been hellishly DOUBLEDover IN neGatiVe expletives and outlandishly eXplOsIvE Emotions (yet) Again. There are clearly a billion ways for these particular people to

Purchase their own staged state of endless fastidiousness. “We want to be beaten to the BonE and still wide-awake and stay-at-home individuals of undenied deliberateness.” Plus… “they NEED to understand the hand

We’ve been indelibly-both-DELIBERATELY PLAYED.. .” One way or a zillion others NOW, plEA$$$$E!! When we NEEDED to make

Make-believe feel real and like a NEVER-ENDING State of relic-filled, retro relief!