Words, to be bothersome troublesome things juggled from one to fro, never meaning the same thing twice, twisting with inflection, strangling with remorse, these individual transmuting verbal darts thrown carelessly, like drunken sailors yet, the girl dodged, grovelled, slid underneath never knowing the spoken tarts, unable to read their gibberish rants, perplexed by their certainty of wordage, that truly mattered not. They all meant f*ck you, anyway they said it, whether flowery or patterned, the code mixed in with the nonsensical. Whispers were naught but small breezes, tickling lies and wet, dripping lips. Nonsense, too small a word for the patter spoken. Trivial too mighty a description. Lost onto this dreary physical realm of raining tears and broken roses.
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