Andulan grew tired of the rocky road ahead,
It prevented her from resting her head,
Against her sorely missed entitlement.
Those **** vines, running alongside my natural veins,
Have they no respect for their own host?
Ever since green mixed with white,
Trusted, swallowed, filled with light,
Against a suddenly shaded backdrop, that slunk away,
That door creepily closed, as if by itself.
Discomfort would break engagement against ground,
Her present was often plucked down back to pain,
That angelic body of mine, assigned by father and given by mother,
I'll never have another...