The haggard Raven croaks perched on a distant tree.
Is it morn or eve?
Lips parched, some Adams Ale would seal the cracks.
She tries to move, all that develops is a gasp!
Her body feels pestled under a heap of trash.
She must dress to undress,
Slather her face with a play of White and Red.
Take that bottle of Chanel and pour it on her skin
Huh! She gotta smell good too.
Cigarette butts, charred strips of silver foil and Some lifeless bottles litter the place.
Someone barges in,
A whiff of expensive smell.
Effaced within the dim light
She's unable to reckon the face.
He clawed her locks and pulled it back
The other pressed on her neck.
The scent of whiskey and perfume swayed in Sinister moves.
He tried with all his 'man powers'
In his words to ' tame the beast'.
The indifferent placidity on her face
No tint of colour
Made him flounder.
Not able to take the sly smirk born in her eyes,
He buried her face in the pillow.
What harm could this puny being cause to her
When her 'self' is wondering somewhere
In The Forest of Delirium?
She laughed like mad!