Stain glass tile iris
Clouded up thoughts cut short seem timeless
Little miss nineties, little white tablets
Little eyes dilate, caught in the moment
Amphetamine shaft deep blackness stints
Pinpoint inside the torn apart big bang
Expanding think tank anguish
Slice in the fabric, mice in the makeup
Ditto of a dotted line blank telegraph
Ship in a jar, pen a path backwards
Ripple in an ocean
Still born syllabus jitter bug glitter ball pupils [bad word] to focus
Following the circles and lines and the night as it wakes up
Breaking up background, back down to syllables
Little miss stand-off flowering in autumn
Born before caution, last calls for boarding, heart racing forward
Part way to glory
Eight winds are calling her downfall, proud walls [bad word] when she takes much boundary evasion
Stage fright princess
In-depth tapestry in low-fi pixels seamless peroxide picture
Exposing a semi-fiction in every instant moment
Clinging to potion whispers
Or is it wisdom?
Cloaked in a smokescreen, coasting on feelings empty
In wonderland playing out a colourful enigma
Her planet goes deep down the rabbit hole precipice
Leaps from the static as she reached for the panic button
Sleep with the paranoid, wake with the blissful
Wait with the worrying in [bad word] screen face dream state DOS mode limbo
Pressing the escape key for reason
Little miss reach for the substance, it’s never that simple [bad word] 
Analyse this from the other side of the [bad word] and range, outside the kaleidoscope
Of the sane with the bland counting the spiders in whirlpool spirals [bad word] of the [bad word] in vein, other line dialling a string of nines to herself
Hoping they’d analyse this from the looking glass, not imposing
Little Miss Ninety sweating on a bed of roses
Deep black cinema, blank white retinas flash like serenade
Quick time high pace life span
Glissando emotions, case open, file name ‘fair ground’, sounds seem deafening
Forgotten in a white wash morning emulsion,
Click tracks accent [bad word] projections of holograms
Walking with corpses and hearing the calls of them beckoning
Little miss write her own sentence
Little white polka dots ready for her rescue
Heads buried in the sand steadily erasing, any trace many fates written in a silver glaze
Tipped for the finish line ribbon of her artificial matrix
Crippled by the little smiley faces, lucid
Join dots released from the blueprint
Dropping anchors, like splash in the tide of the past
Flash back to the future
Thoughts dissolved down to words then burst into 3D
Learn from the wise eyes gripped by the depths
All immersed in a crowd left drowning in shallow waters that don’t move her
Learn to escape, colours fade in the light, cascade into faraway pigments
Emerge in a grey dawn from the womb, fresh blood from the wound, whiplash
Parachute bites as the sunshine blisters
Falling like crash from her discworld, waiting for her Tinkerbelle to save her
Close to the brink, little white speckles glint in the sun’s glow, fit for the unknown
Little bag of promises, any kind of flavour
Taught by the white pebbles, drink the remainder
Little miss sleepwalker, seeking clarity
Remembering that dreams always simulate reality