I am but a budding lifeling
as my world condenses into a plump,
little dew drop on the petal of a rose.(A rose that is crying out "FASHION!")
The rose cries out in despair as theword it screams forms into catty, bitch glue
and chokes the voice into silence.
As it is now quietly quiet the deer hooves
and fluffy bunny brains which make up the glue
start to singa song.
"Prue Lu come play. Mold us and make us your own." They whisper into the wind.
"I CAN'T!" I yell back to the wind.
A passer by throws me some change and harsh words and for a fleeting moment
I aspire to get cleaned up and find a job.
But I would rather buy a couple of beers
and hang out with Catherine."Catty" for short.