Sleep tight

A mother screams in pain and frustration, another child is born. Tossed to the side and hushed of its cry as it wears a crown of thorns. Christened misfortune after a baptism of fire and blood, a true have not, misfortune is all she ever truly got. Exposed to all the elements from death to death, she was born into death and died a dead woman.

misfortune had the misfortune of having everything but a fortune. From birth she begged for life pleading with mom to let her breath, but mom knew little of the culture of living as she long had seized to be. They came from a long linage of death and surely it begetteth its kind, not a pot to piss or window to throw it out, no one dines for just a dime. The tragedy that is the life of this popper lays purely in the prefix, but that mis made her miss the entire essence of humanity and now she is just a being. She sits on the side of the street and sighs, wishing for the improbable. One hand on her head, the other pointing up to the sky as she rides on an artificial tide. Drives past the pointlessness of non philosophical monologues, mingles in a world of masked men and masquerades. This is true to her so you can take your facts and shove it, the shuttle just left earth and now she's flying and she loves it

She is heckled back to earth as the hit starts to fade, the harmonious poppy halo slowly goes away. She only wants to stay and there is only a single way: keep the needle pumping happy juice into her lonely veins. Lost track of time and of her living dead existence, lost track of the fact that she bore quite a few infants. She makes her grand exist in a final blaze of glory, leaving behind many misfortunes to continue and tell her story. She was born into death and died a dead woman, but an induced illusion of life is better off than not living ... she spreads her wings to fly as she boards on the red eye, never has to return to die she smiles and waves .... good bye ... good bye