She
was marginalized, and caught a glimpse—of riches and fame. What was this message—even objectives,
slanted in disposition? We met in an
instance, to leap from face to face, the order of this chaos. Her anger flourished, for reasons
unbeknownst, the result of this mystery.
We
rise the darkest nights, to infuse a kingdom, by way of inner forces; such is
risk, the insanity—of living as if sane; for it gives the pressures—of
something so gray, to realize a breach of mentals; but more to signatures, a
comparison of thoughts, to freeze and take notice.
She
was marginalized, once to walk this life, to embrace a deadline; and now
internal, to mark her claim, to perish a noticed eye. There’s a deficit—of this thing called
knowledge, to realize a throbbing anguish.
We speak within, the disadvantage of guarantees, voiceless and dancing.
There’s
much for increase, to tiptoe a thin line, where something lives; and much the
rebel, for one unprepared, to push past the margins. She lives annoyed and eager for solace, to
feel the wholeness of a hand; but what to give, for that a mere mortal,
shifting through another world?
