It’s back again. Hell, or something towards the altruistic crevice of non-belief hurls your bollocks up to the point where you thought kicking women made sense.
I’ve had a fairy tale in mind. Do you remember the time you sat across from a pubescent invalid? With the banality of a nubile heathen spread across your finger tips and all the disorientated vision of a harlot’s provocative tales upon your head.
Fantastic, and never ephemeral when you realise the damage.
It made more sense when you presumed to fake it. But the closer you got to a lifetime’s gaze, the more I wished I had never met you.