She drew the canvas
of hopeful desires,
to gift a mosaic of
painted pictures.
Return some glories
of sparodic spoofs.
Humourous poetic nights,
books well articulated lights.
She was the lust
to turn into stardust.
Fragrance of anger,
upheal broken crusts.
Repented and lemented,
till the ashes were burnt raw
in the seasonings of fire.
But yearning kept her
strive and alive.
Drenched by toxicity,
beverages of melancholic miseries.
Vinyl painted with ivory colours,
turned bule of outrages.
But never ended in any edge.
She was hurt,
when paradoxical tragedies
pricked her cruelest absurd feelings.
She was left to endure,
having stuck for a key.
Yells stpped for drying her tears.
But she mended herself,
paying for her own bruises.
A bit wilder then usual.
//Though she was broken frabricated in sober fragments//
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