Saliva flamed red,
Cheek distends beyond proportion,
All this in the wrong bearing.
Resilience will set a warming grasp on this stationary shoulder.
It always does.

Look!
There she is.
I see her day after day.
Always the same, clothed in blue remorse,
Clutching a hardback of idealisms kept as a faithful friend.
A deceiving smile is tensed over porcelain.

Bound by restriction, nothing is free.
Hands tied by imperceptible trimming as sanguinity crammed behind aging marrow,
Love left limp on a dull filament of elastic band…
Kept that way by a strict diminutive tone.

Her.
I pity her.
For she lacks the mellowness stipulated by her age.
She’ll remain so unconscious to veracity
Whilst fixed in a perplexed approach.
She’ll struggle to escape the denial and inability to absorb the conviction,
The conviction that this waste of skin was never intended
To breathe our air.

But for now,
Nothing can be done.
This is what has been intended.
I’m sure of it.