Nervously too late? To turn the tide of thankless endeavour. None too late, too, to bring it all back at the centre point of undeniable dedication. What if: “unidentifiably our minds were vying for —- underestimated tWisT Of BliSs, and what if:: she’s just about to take a sneaky little secondary cigarette break? We are dumbfounded by our own lives and LIVING IT LARGER THAN::
Anyone else who seeks to’ve reinvented themselves and attempted to Re-ImaginE. A tragedy that sang from its own secretive hymnSHEET within
The inner-within of their vagabond minds. She’s a little all over the taste FOR total requiem and she’s reachingOUT “NOWWWWW!!!” ———>>> for her any-other_way to say—
Unavoidable things anyway. If she persists will she really be capable of +++ crossing all of their LayAbOUt_eyes and making their salacious teatimes feel quite like
… A dottY_minded endeavour: “TRUE AND too Far beneath the underbelly OF THE SURFACE for everyBODY(ELSE) to treaSURE?” When we seek to’ve submerged ourselves in Utter_Remoteness even if —-
“Otherwise All of their Eyes might’ve caused their each-and-every-other BrainOfMind = to falter at the first sign of
Uncontrollable DISqualification… .” Maybe it is a disease, But It’s Also {BEEN} A DemonicDEMONSTRATION in making
EVERYTHING, even the FED-UP underbelly: “motherFUCKING S!NG(!!!!)”
