Wounds wrapped fervertly,

Like tongues held convex,

Body of a halloween pumpkin,

Faces carved amongest.

 

Featured with humour of a clownfish,

Eccentric above mediocrity,

A drunken smile without a fee,

So in depth of trouble.

 

The malleability of the heart,

Rope thin, any moment to be cut,

Ready to burn into tatooed insults,

Releasing control for a night.

 

Cuts eager to scar,

Oh, a blade of a thousand tears,

To occupy this reality,

Fiction in the title of this society.

 

Nails coated in burnt morose,

with an essence of a windblown tree,

If only a cease would occur,

In loss of questioning the blade.

 

With battling perception,

Feet waddling to the unnamed outcast,

With hues of oaken sheen

Buried, but in reach, a poem embedded.

 

Words of hope afflicting thoughts,

Must I assure as is permitted,

and she shall permitted herself,

Or remain inconspicious?

 

In destined fortitude,

In attempts to succeed, flowing in hope,

Fate, may you attain her sorrow with regrets and mistakes,

For Sarah Unique is sacred in name.