She swings all day this red. As she slumbers off to the lands in which she resides, she finds the lad, her future band, her hold on, her unfortunate task. In her mind as she meets upon this glimpsed shadow, this phantom who steals her lungs, cannot plead, for he is in control of this she, herself in red.
Nothing savage, nothing graphic as she will run away, lying in sweat, away from this ghost of enlightenment, she cannot be broken for she runs faster than the promises made to her.
So to the contradictions he needs to **** his find, but emerge in her heart so if this red is to be left lone, she needs to wake, this unfaithful infant in mind. Cannot stop for a drink. Must run further until that frontal lobe ocean, will confide her wishes, her secrets for no one to unfold. For the papers have been wrinkled and he will unwrap ages to find her Poem of love, within so many notes on affection and tests on emotional responses.