there's something rotten in denmark here no woman with such a sweet sounding name could ever be such a thorn in my side instead should be a slender silhouette in the corner of my eye
best bitch of a bad bunch was our backstory i told my parents her parents their parents she got her looks from her grandma those wrinkles told me more than her hackneyed english ever could even a touch of that worn stubbly face was a tale of woe in braille her love handles fostered a can of film for each year each five years ten years of torture she'd had put upon herself
just a face i'd see from afar some nights on some weeks everytime the moon looked like a discarded apple core i'd see her maybe in the thick cloud of winter in the wet slush we call snow a slender patch of darkness against the moonlit white smoke rising from her lungs and circling around her eyes Jem Stone what a sweet sounding name
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