In the middle of the scenery

I wonder if I hang around.  
Something will find me,  
crawl Languidly,in-between the strands of my recently found platinum blonde on Trafalgar Square. Hair.  
 
This hair,wig.  
Whatever you want to call it.  
Encircles my sunken,full of regret cheeks.  
Inherited,forever buried it,sculptured it,from my eccentric,with a smiggen  of militant reverie full of contradictionary beliefs,called my daddy.
 
Oh how unconventially  he loved me.  
 
The moment mummy left me,caressed me,  
was it really necessary,to be a very famous revolutionary feminist.  
Always high on Acid.  
 
Tinkering away on my collection of 'Volkswagen Beetle cars. (My garage was large!)  
Hanging around,I sway ,to the sound, of 'Zap Mama',playing in the background.  
 
So sad,  
'Zap Mama' can't save me.  
 
In the middle of the scenery.  
 
Maybe next time. My father will love me,conventionally.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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