Tuesday, September 18, 2012

The griddle isn't hot enough

Her hands are shaking, but this is nothing.  She has become accustomed to the feeling; she does not notice it.

Youth fades in the eyes.  Hers hold a tainted innocence that's been worn away by what others may consider "growing up too quickly".

Walking along the street, she stares out in front of her, unaware.  In her mind, she is breezing by the shops and cars like a milkweed puff in the wind.  The dog that barks from across the street is nothing but muffled sound.  She is in a muted television.

Autumn air is crisp.  It bites the cheeks pink and raises collars to keep the neck warm.

Those who know nothing of her smile as she walks past, seeing nothing more than a pretty girl in stride down the street.  Those who have courted her see a skeleton, a body, that carries beauty and pain as if it were a trifling matter.  A mess of sorts, they pity her; they want to save her.



A sea rocks the small boat at sea.  Waves splash and tease, caressing and thrashing, licking and bruising.  Uncertainty in life, mixings like pancake batter.

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