Is it not a paradox that her deception should leave her beauty so unmarked? Her winsome countenance - generously admired - leaves her suitors abject; mere puppets on a string.

Verily, the essence of her is as a tarnished trinket. For to mine own soul she appears as jaded as a ***** house quean. Her eyes which once shone with the light of truth unblemished, a colourless and infinite mire overgrown with the entangled falsehoods she has seeded.

Their souls had spoken. Rushed off into adventure fueled by mania without first breaking the ice. These talks were between new friends. Altogether anchored by deathless subjects, they deliberated naively over a shared *** of bone apple tea. The glass was broken, but this was no emergency - just heavy words minced by chattering teeth.

Hesitating only slightly, they took a death pledge. “I’m bad and it’s not worth it,” she said. “You’ll be disappointed by me too, and I’ll bet my life on it,” he returned. They chuckled sheepishly. “You’re going to miss this too”, sang the younger sibling.

Of course, their conversation was purely conjecture, subject matter the victor of a game of happenstance, mutilated in transcription, like notes copied over the shoulder from someone else’s lecture.

Still, he hoped it didn’t matter, and without hope, it didn’t matter. Perhaps this was merely thinkful wishing. “I was a single digit, a gorilla in a concrete jungle,” his words seemed to suggest. “A flightless bird makes good food for thought. Fight or flight, fight the good fight. Always choose your battles wisely, and never speak in absolutes.” she recommended.

“It’s got to be somewhere; everything’s somewhere, but, everywhere else is not here.” he wondered. She could read between the lines; and left to write. “Stop being ungrateful and just close your eyes.” She closed the door, and he opened a window. Then, like some thinly sliced avocado that didn’t quite make the cut, he fell asleep.

I've seen...
Many an egg dropped by the proverbial hen
then egg becomes number through paper and pen
then greed facilitates the perpetrators of this
with ample incentive to young girls a kiss.

Then kiss unexpectedly leads to *******
and the greedy ******* end with a non-legit son
many of the girlies will attempt abortion
but a few will not do as the ******* tell them.

So the son soon and swiftly becomes an anomaly
while it's elder brother says to daddy "are you proud of me"
the oxbridge acceptance letter filled him up with glee
but the dad knows secretly it's all to do with money.

So the half witted son takes up the mantle of the father
as senility and guilt have finally gripped the latter
the son through drugs and experimentation is madder
his social status dictates,
he'll always climb the ladder.

A few years pass, we're in different situation
the son of senility has got grip o' the nation
shaking wretched and archaic crumbling foundations,
he's shaking the **** all over his poorer realtion.

But the overgrown man-child doesn't know,
that since he took power his brother sits in the cold,
that with all the food he eats, he chews it real slow,
so he can have food for longer, fill that hole.

But does it make it all right at once,
cuz he claims ignorance
or should the people at the top
be people from the bottom,
the ones who looked up,
but got nothing but trod on.

It's impossible to relate,
when you all dissipate,
when your middle class darling,
has a working class date.

So the ******* child doesn't vote,
through bedroom tax lost his home,
Senile son?  Victory of note
fake promises in the matriarchal dome.

Apathy strikes again,
this ****'s impossible to defend,
how can we justify not getting off our *****?
not doing something about all this in the masses?
oh yeah, that's right
although barely know the people at the top,
We've all seen their soles as they've trod on our lots

Sometimes desires can be cruel
Tugging you towards the blind alley
Mind is in conflict with the heart
Dragging you along the ground
Getting bruised all over by desire
And the heart somehow craves
To walk the path towards rejection
Living in the world of denial
The whole world turns a blind eye
Hurling down the path to oblivion
Bearing the brunt of collision
Waking up from stupor quite late