There’s this silence within her sense of rapid fire reasoning; deepening down at the centre of her antagonised soul- and they’ve even proposed that she be
A forsaken angel of sentimental pulsation, for these avidly interested, INTRIGUED A-N-D interactive characters who appear dutifully devoted
To her locational sense of soothed wherewithal: a place oftly subsumed with cigarette air and emptied bottles of undeniably undrinkable(!) wine
Because, They do tell her mind everything Soon as She interrupts her next state of irreparable stare..
And glances passionately (again…) at this ‘liquid-filled ocean’ of merry disorganisation which sits… persuasively(?!) before her.
“Smash the glass, break their good-GoD Hearts!!” Just be SURE-TO-DO-IT
With beautiful passion