A lonely woman
Sits on her porch
In the tween of dawn
Her skin is the color
Of the lightest rose quartz
Her silky silver locks
Curl into playful tendrals
Against the day's first breath
Her sea green eyes
Fixed on the cold cup of introspection
Grasped in her frail hands
Her fore head furrows
Into a gentle frown
She sighs and wishes
That she had eaten
At the feast of self indulgence
Instaed of slaving
In the fields of sacrifice
Her lips twist
Into a childish pout
She wants to see so much
The pixies and fearies
The magic she's dreamt of
But in the porcelain cup
Now shaking in her grip
She can only see
Her own reflection















Comments
--
Lingva.
--
"ART is a lie which leads you to the truth"
*indonesia~soerabaja~canada-club~Singaporeans
=sollo=
--
"Everything Beautiful Dies, So I Kiss It All Good-Bye"
--
I'm going to betch slap the dumb out of you
Previous PageNext Page