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she is a book ( a vague story of vague people)

His eye were as red as two open wound, or maybe he was just drunk from the lines of poetry he had embided and was at present attempting to keep down. she sat next to him purple painted nails on the dash. her onxy colored hair stretched like an open palm against the wind. would you like a slice of my forever, it’s to die for she said abruptly. nah, i’m trying to cut back on dieing he said lighting a ciggarette and indulging on the mentholated resin on his darkened lips.lighten up, all that we have is highway and future ahead of us, a rebutle escaped him as the world rushed past him and gravity failed him adding the burden of wieghtless time he had known that it was coming. he knew that the moment when his opinions would have to make the transition from refuges to fugitives alluding the athourity that her questions carried.what, you got something against angels? her voiced trialed. so much conceit, so much beauty, so much conflict. what are we doing here? where are we going? “aren’t you happy to feel this freedom?” she interrupted his thoughts, and he could feel those lines of supressed poetry that he had swallowed begin to churin he could hold it no longer.

in the spring of my life
the sky is clear
but theplaygrounds are empty
the earth is green
but there is no scent of perrenials in bloom
the children are at war
indeed tragedy is a peculiar animal

Journal Comments

  • StacyLee
  • Catherine Myrtle Schoeman
  • StacyLee
  • IvyLeague