Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Exasperating mouthy twat of a girl doesn't know when she should shut her gob.
Sex crazed little freak seeking endless self destruction, doesn't know when to stop.
She pulls and tangles herself further into that knot.
Her words are missiles, but she doesn't know where they'll be lobbed.
But she doesn't mean it, she doesn't realise she's acting God.
Blame it on the hormones, the Pill, she isn't the boss
Of herself, she isn't in control of whether that switch is on or off.
She is at the cockpit, but all she sees is fog.
There is naught ahead, naught to live for, naught to die for, she waits with the tick-tock
Of the clock, the clock which lies, which laughs, which thrives on the throb
Of her heart, her lungs, rushing into her ears and drowning her, she is besotted
With her underwater palace, never drawing her eyes from the creatures which inhabit it, that mob,
Swirling, clamouring for attention, while ahead and above the light breaks through the waves atop.
She has been so long underwater watching her kingdom flourish, it appears she has forgot
Her inability to swim. Her palace is sinking, her dreams and glorious facade dying. With a nod,
She takes all in stride. They all know. She loves, she has loved, she will love no more. Gone, gone.
She is finished and done. She has devoured herself, left herself to rot. She is brought along,
And laid now to rest. They wait for her death with bowed heads, and to the sky, the earth, the sea, she gives her soul.

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