Polish face lifts
immigrants on a striking shift.
Release the scent of the maximum sedative.
How many wrongs make a right in a world indulging in a toupe wearing predictive.
In the slums – she bares her teeth.
rips at her tights.
Hoping to show she can cough up her own weight when she’s challenged to cognac fights.
Rhyme like a dimer who thinks life is one giant inflatable bunny.
Spring in her step – she waddles a concubine to the left.
Eating her mushy peas and the renmants of a palate once cleft.
oh, come all ye faithful – fish nets, voluminous hair.
All that makeup gunk and dressing attire scream out they live in a world in scenic bare.
Boxed tight in – creativity swivels to an allurer.
Betrayed by the one she led down consciousness – hostile intruder.
Genuine, inspirational, honesty appeals to an egotists intellect.
How much funk does one consume to come to believe in this deficit?
Character assassination -Emotions maul – pall bearers shuffle on knees.
a clear casket in mind – drunken on herbal skies, the night before the shaman declares he indeed sees.
Truffle this slice with something so nice.
49 kilograms of crystallized heart stacked with genetically modified, combed honey.
Pest in my side. No great thought- a merry flow tilts to contrive.
This is what you get when you reach out for a pair of ears to listen to what you wish others could see through your hide.
Make it a happy ending!
Tortured with teddy bears, candy floss not fit for human consumption
Connect the E numbers – ADHD charged disorderly suspected of the ability to function.
Write what you know.
Know what you write
For old times sake, can’t we just make up and redo introductions without resorting to repeats of historical dramas televised late in the night?
Spirited away from a despicable raven heart that galvanizes.
Bloody, pumped up
clogged up arteries.
Whimsical bird – an indulgent Eliza
Timing is everything, nothing, and something.
If she could just make a connection – could she expose the trilogy cycling stationary in the ring?
She gives a damn but it is probably not what you think she has planned.
marvellous toast dictates who should ordain an anthem to strawberry jam.
Drummers in a sweat lodge – chanting druids beating on stones, let the sow lose her intelligent piece of three-year-old jambon ham.
She’s not a funny writer .
She writes what she wants to – it’s weird and it’s messed up but it is fucking fun.
Sanity is a line just beyond the blur – hasn’t it ever occurred to you she writes to live for her?