When you say her name,
            I think I feel a sound.

A sad girl-
             years of age & all that Blow.

Dancing in circles & long ,
         f   l   o   w  i   n  g
cliches.

But you tell me you don't give power to
       slight idiosyncrasies.

"I didn't go that way."

Yet
       all those years it was kept alive
                      with that Brown stuff.

You know, darling,
                  you can always go deeper into the matter.

Sending generic Buddhist quotes and preachy Karma
                 at 3 AM.

You rustle in our bed.
                            

                                             I feel so kind.


Giving different names for the same disorder.


In the end,

she's nothing but a
                    
                                            Fawn.