flurrying, dancing like little ballerinas poised, in her brain
fingers intertwine nervously;
the land of salt and sea
tentative looks, although momentarily
crashing harder than any wave ever could.
the branches of an olive tree
held together
twinkles of hope glimmer between melancholy browns
small and fragile
an embrace, a thought -
a winter coat swaddling a new baby
protected from a frost-bitten reality
her endless eyes could really warm me no matter what...
or so I thought.
soft-spoken lies.
nothing more than what a mother tells her frightened child -
'there are no monsters in your closet'
check again, mother
'it's time for bed'
i'll never rest.
'but monsters aren't real darling'
oh, but they are.
ugly, bloody, lustful atrocities
seven.
seven sins.
'i don't want to do this anymore'
- charlie.
Charlie - so emotive and such evocative imagery throughout this one :-)
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