Yours Truly.

What do you think she’s doing up there, sprawled out on her mattress? Buried deep within the rightful king’s casket, hollow, milky eyes as strong as magnets. Her hair like a birds nest, her heart full of maggots. Do you think she’s lonesome, up there, on her thrown of baggage? relentless, consistent, repetitive bad habits. Running from red hearts while chasing basket cases, dreams, and white rabbits. Her imagination like a band of horses, running hard, fast,.yes painfully rabid. Thoughts devouring each other whole, a road so long, so tragic. A silly, hectic head, full of backed up five o’clock traffic. When the light turns green, her head hopes like hell she has it. Do you think she knows the problems she’s crafting? way, high, up there on her sagging mattress?


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