Little Miss Tea Cup

Nothing seems to last in this damn borough.

 

    Meandering aimlessly around for a au courant hypothesis.

 

    Being short of tomorow's thought.

 

    Everything seems to insinuate it's self  to be lakadaisical.

 

    Slowly but f*****g surely etiolateing it's way comfortably into the background.

 

    I hear you damn it, but my f*****g eyes are quarantined from you, you foolish and blind little boy.

 

    My hold feels clandestined and asundered. My lips are callous as well as my heart is set to ablaze.

 

    Would you have been apprehensive if I was to go away of all flesh and bones foolish boy?

 

    How long would it take you?