Colby brown hair was a standing there making her wish. Over grave where husband laid she promised 'soon'.
'soon I'll be right next to thee. Soon I'll lay between cold sheets eyes gone to dark from blue. Dead, get it?
'walter, walt, wall big cock dream purveyor. Love give orgasm planter of soil an singer of songs the preservation machine then we...dead!'
It's Tuesday and she's got a little brown journal. She got black slack. She got white chiffon top. She got eye swollen, tit sag, muffin top mother of 3. She got long hair messed ragged from love, life and marriage...drain draining drained.
She carries herself low now. Once tall and slender like a shadow. Now the fresh dirt, now no grass, now potted plants slumped dying. Life gone from it all, 'better their dead, better to sleep in.'