I will not behold the extinction of her species,

The people want her lost, without needs,

She is all of what I cannot believe,

Packed into a little body that breathes.

As she inhales the toxins of her rotting enemies,

The acrid aromas provide her with nose piercings by enmity,

I cannot save her from her obviously poisonous tendencies,

I cannot devolve what she makes entities,

Her loneliness is cultivated by her own refusal of company,

It spills into her lifestyle and reproduces abundantly,

She lays with void in which only she chooses to accompany.

Thoughts of why fill her nights,

When she applies all awry to her plights,

A miracle, it may be,

To bend her back straightly,

Her emotions gravely,

Affect her hills greatly,

The stretch toward the sun,

I cannot make her numb,

She is cold,

Her motives are old,

She has sets of minds untold.

B, begins her name, I am now trying my hardest to question what bodes her death,

I will be seen of, aside her ego and utter refusal,

I will begin to step out of the place to reach what is beautifully hidden,

In pain, I can see, she suffers, she is lonely,

I will take what is me,

And permit her free,

From her silence, horror, and disparity.


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