She was a trace quick

Sketch of something drawn out by heaven

Walls stood over and above us though

Through time and through strife

Out of control like the heavens

Destiny has made twisted cries

Not knowing what to make from scowling scrawls

Written across each other’s expressions.

I wish I could tell her more, but she made up her mind

Time is a wicked cry sporadic and split

Making people into monstrous masks it seems.

Not fleeing from siren red nights

Feeling cool winds strike like scars

Black nights stretchy with fickle moons

A lasting image now forever lost

Riding crowds on busted backs

Beautifully innocent

Krylon villain with low communication skills

Age stamped on her face like every word on a wall

Beaten, battered, banished in cloudy cool world

With blundering bullets, North Hollywood skies.

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