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the_author
Elizabeth and her Autumn End - Subscribe
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A funeral arrives with tears and rehersal. Why, oh why does life cheat the most beautiful? However calm the princess be, she must have broken her delicate neck. The wind whines about the corpse in a way, still no birds chime at this hour of day. lifting corners of white lace revealing slender legs - sometimes more to the family's dismay... she hangs gently. As passerbys paint crosses on their chests. Her blasphemous fingers brought her death, such is a sin, to still one's breath! Her heaven is barred, as the gospel says. The townfolk weed their way among the oak. Top hats and long coats hang on tired bones, all chilled by this unholiest of autumns, wind licking at their toes. Stone faces weep and snarl where droplettes cling the final eyes in which she confided in. Granite monsters above everything. The tumultuous twilight is split by a raven's caw money lenders and machine makers made to look on torn from their beds at a lantern boy's call they found a young vixen . She must have broken her delicate neck. A book is strewn wayward, landing angry in the mud, as a pastor whispers holy things. His wavering voice doing battle with the wind. A ragged yell escapes a carpenter, who was the father. The people mumbled onward hate poured generously into fricative words wondering who's daughter, when, and why the hearse was running late. A boy expects a funeral, tomorrow if weather permitting. the cold permeating his cotton, invading his train of thinking. Removed from his carrot soup, when all of this occured. Quite fitting, the cold now upon him. An icey blast just as within him, when he raped and killed his sister. |
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the_author
Maxim Nov 20th, 2006 4:15:25 am - Subscribe
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What do you know about the future? I think you'll become a consumer-whore. I think you'll spawn a couple fucked-up brats. I think you'll have a midlife crisis, and what that can be - who knows. Maybe you'll gain weight. Maybe you'll notice how your spouse doesnt get off to you anymore. Maybe you'll buy something stupid and expensive like new luxury Sedan. Maybe one of those fridges with the TV's in the door. Just big enough to feel like your money's worth it. Like you're worth it. You'll "stay together for the kids" and get up every morning to go read the A&E uptown in an expensive coffee shop. Go. Peruse mediocrities, There's nothing more to do. You'll strike up conversations with strangers and oddly, they're the only ones that really know. In the sense that they know nothing. You'll thumb your cellphone playfully, and play office. You'll drink your half-soy, half-latte Venti mocha cappacino... or whatever other conceited gourmet shit you can swipe a card to. It gives you caffeine. It gives you an ego. You'll sit, you'll sip, and you'll smirk at the life unfolding around you, One about as fullfilling as the dirt on your shoe. Your salvation, your maxim. Your truth found in the traffic lights. Fast food from the passenger seat. Another weeknight, another deadline beat. If only beating your wife was as easy. I think You'll live out your hopes and dreams Your life folded between pleasures and practicalities and whatever other passions... begot from middle-management. White knuckles to match the white collar. You savor it. The starch might make your skin itch a little You ignore it. It might brush against the stubble on your aching neck. And you like it. It makes you awake. The haircut you can set a watch to. |