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She reads Nietzsche and Sartre and thinks them verbose.
She plays the Tambourine man for quick sick thrills.
Morbid and heavy, hips swagger to the bong bong beat.
African collective, black sambuca black mambaza spiritual.
Tattered bracelets of pewter and gems to remember lost loves.
Cold world takes warriors out of the fray.
She knew that trickster they call Death.
Hollow man caped crusader snatching lifebloods from the ether.
Each life’s string cut short after love’s embrace.
Calls herself black widow; joke’s harsh reality.
Venomous heart gave two shits to half men.
Waiting for grown folk, paying dues to hetero game.
Cash and carry economy with fixed interest.
Sick of the game, sick of loss, sick of the inevitable struggle.
Niggy Tardust speaks her soul and raptures her dwindling heart.
If you could know her heart you’d know everything.
Lock, stock gunslinger pushing up the ladder but feeling empty.
Meaning matters but lost in translation.
Reflecting on the self, individual growth formations.
Philosopher stone cold crazy set in lattice.
Buddha’s journey recollecting motivation.
She sets forth on discovery inspiration.
Legs around the world, Tina Turnovers.
Finds home on earth just like fond wishes.
Dreams come true after many nightmares.
She ages well with grace and sophistication.
Gray hairs and tawdry affairs but ashamed of none.
Life’s lessons baked by the sun.
Golden years sunny side up.

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