Oft they talk in upsetting twisted syllables of a life which should and COULDHAVE been led BOTH lIvEd: cept of course for this creeping cRaWlng sense of impending… dread
It fed her hard hearted face and body and mind.. all things which She Cannot seem to unearth and FIND.. not… quite… quiet?
A constancy called utterly hastily antagonised and Nasty naughty little BUG-EYED mothereffing mind s-l-a-u-g-h-e-r-i-n-g rumination
A room; and a four corner dreaded frame of curtain-drawn dereliction FOR ALL OF THREE DECADE DECIMATION; and st(ILL) not quite binned to become descriptive FICTION just yet
If only she shall stand taller than That everlasting aforementioned sense of… mind-FaLtErInG rapid fire malnutrition of said waste-away Brain
To have handled this is to HAVE whole-HEARTEDLY BOTH passionately handled… something which will NEVER EVER BE
Repeated, nor explained, “EVER again!” She is a captured Zen which carries with it a pause-for-thought pen
… Only the ink appears to be silently SPEARED WITH A mindfucking POISON CALLED paralysing hindsight (hilarity, really??!)
And HE HAS BEEN ATTEMPTING TO TwIST and disLOCATE IT til his breath no longer feels at threat
Of ammunition under-fire and LOADED with bullets of tippy-toe desire
Yes. Their smiles DO infact wish to STAY a fair while— because they’ve dug the pit and this IS IT, a bouncing castle of aired with majestic humility
