Hash slinger – dilutes 365 days worth of grapes fermenting in a cave filled with stolen hearts.
Instigator- in need of ingredients – list ready not fully prepped but all great recipes need parts.
Dark ale, vodka trail – ‘buy get one free’ cocktails.
E- colorants – fry the mind -a far cry from fresh mint and soul mates kiss.
New beginnings left in a brawl of broken communication,
walking all uphill – alone.
Moving target – pray for the deceased – we may miss.
cuckoo birds sling out freestyle, rap, battle war cries, on a council estate – beaks pointed and drawn.
Prepared to engage in battle. A girl walks by she goes by the name forlorn.
Forlorn found her way back home, in the arms of her significant other.
Her mind and heart she gave away freely to another.
Too many grains of sand lost to shell-shock beach.
Too many thoughts and emotions she stewed over.
One potato – made her believe she was smashed enough and that it was her lucky clover.
Magic happens in all forms of manners.
Butterfly wings eats at the table, always gets a slap to the head from Peppered head chef.
Escapism signs – she drove her mind around the same block clocking 355 days worth of miles. She surpassed the speed of light.
There is a harsh ignorance in being deaf.
Third world faggot.
Take offense to the fact the one can be cured by a doctor at liberty, the other could be the one who does the operation.
Connections made in hazy chatrooms- friends first? denied.
She let her guard go below waist level.
Summer, trees, fresh breeze- no red wine- only a heart jolted into shame and alienation.
Walking into her shift at ‘club unresolved‘, the room filled with patronly feelings.
Ignored, lonely spell caught up with her when she was having her smoke break.
She drew up a new sheet – the rules of this melody could go whichever way they choose. One little minor grew into a major.
Tchaikovsky in need for Concerta of this scale.
Lonely spell – left without decorating the cake.
Allies can be few and far between- Forlorn can’t take lonely spell with her into every one of her dreams.
Sweet relief falls like crumbs to hungry birds, not enough to satiate every lost soul.
At least Jesus had his merry sunbeams.
One year of Forlorn clenched fists, post sticky notes reminding her to breathe.
Begging for mercy.
Forlorn only wanted Lonely Spell to let her be another Venusian friend – not some spicy flavored condiment that would only end up in regretful screams.
‘The Let go’ should bring comfort to sweet forlorn.
Weightless -gravity took hold her.
Luckily Soul mate was quick enough to tie a string around her emaciated form.
His spirit grabbed hold of her – even when bone turned to dust,
falling apart at the seams.
Forlorn, not for thinking she had lost a missing ingredient.
Forlorn because she never needed a magic ingredient to make her whole- she blinded her own eyes with a blow torch.
Moment of Epiphany.
A Stray Cat only gets to sleep in a babes cradle,
if a mother forgets to secure the front door behind her- facing Fallible street -Eastside of the mansion porch.