Her yesterday is a blank page to her memory
And her today is a virtue of bliss
Reiteration of her own heavenly body
She stood beyond her own story
Lounging in the cyclical routine of tranquillity
She is a queen of her tailored ontology
Societal question mark to the dazzling authenticity
Not a usual spoon to feed
Not a usual tone to speak
Is she ideally a slice of our expired dessert?
Is she impeccable to the crumbling domain?
A dotted mark to her every interval
Jumbling up her benevolence in the virtue of bliss
Cluttering down her nobility in the solitary peace
squalid gaze hurling the tainted haze
Repulsed thrust , wrecking the pure
She gleams to her tears squinching her uncharted fears
She illuminates her tone rushing her deviated faults
Just a injury, not to my body, but the convulsions there to worry
Just a twinge, not a unique spirit, but the inherited disruptions as the uneasy
Just a affliction, probably to my physique but not the pulse like all the folks
Just a bruise I’d say, probably to my unconventional architecture but not the haemoglobin like yours
I am not a bizarre tail to this existence, I have a remarkable trait
Correspondence not beyond or above, I am a equality to reframe
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