Bearing the burden of her greasy teen
She walks nearer to the lovely shore
Her mind weaving a satin nest of fantasy
Uncertain and lost she gazes at shells, sand and its shinny core
...
There she comes worrying about her act
Drax had called up as he knows it was mistake
“You informed Bond! “ bellowed Drax
...
Her skill of potion making was par excellence
Laces of her dress however were quite loose
Cumbersome were her ways of persuasion
And lonesome were the swings of her mood
...
A black zone with nobody to dwell
Something sleeping, not quite well
The bright sun of knowledge never rises there
A shying support of lies always lurk somewhere
...
Upon the table of extreme exaggeration, Mashanka stands tall
Shivering, biting the pink lips of her own
Perhaps the circus of her tender age or a focus of her unique mind
She senses love beyond the strengths of lovers of any best kind
...