If we held hands with happiness then we definitely held hands with a thousand-million each-of-our-very-own juxtapositions. She’s — endlessly inebriated and begging for sips MULTIPLIED BY A MILLION paces a-minute of the exact same
She’s even
Being bloodlust+and+Godiva about all of these incriminating things. Should we really rally together and tell her what it actually takes to — tUrN hEr VeRy wHolE LifE right round, or should we let her pound the two-tonne beneath her ground?
When her Ferrari-loving generational fixation meant everything to these people pressing their presumptive selves {together} to become: “merely idiotic mouthpieces.” We’ve tried at least a thousand-and-ten times “BYE NOW… .”
_ to understand the understatements which happened immediately right-round-us actually. And she seems
Secluded, about to remake herself yet again and MAKE HERSELF FEEL lastingly deluded: for the single sake of instantaneously ignoring EVERYBODY ELSE(..) who throws themselves about the place ——————> with these throbbing fists of theirs, even if We Are As Curious AS HELL to see How It Felt.
