She walks fast and breaths slow,
A fiddle player missing her index
She runs now, she was always running..

A side of a truth—her only ally

Her ***** were burnt blue
with the Greek fire that tingles further with saliva.
But not hers they said, for she was stained
****** to purification through pain.

Her pain was sheer existence.
Every breath hurting more and hurting less
Continual life leading to death.
She is the morality of lust,
the end of a beginning..

Its designed to deliver,
engineered to inspire.
Being powered by the energy of a coiled spring
and kept in motion by a complex
self-winding system,
relying on the natural movements of one's self.
It's rubbing elbows with rebels and royalty.
Introducing *** to Cola,
and creating a bathtub diver,
a daytime sleeper,
an organized mess.
Seems my shadow has kept busy.
It's my wild walkman,
my *electric pickle.