How She Thinks

Her mind is anfractuous, a staircase down the tower of her consciousness
To her, the world is a stercoraceous rock floating through space
We are bugs with vagarious lifestyles falling into the thrutch of disappointment
She is strong, the world is not ready, is nesh in her presence
Her work is her blood, the erubescent liquid like gold in her veins
In her eyes she ensorcells all who lay their eyes upon her,
But she never sees within the confines of her skin
That she is truly ugly

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