Monday, December 8, 2008

Can't Hold Me Forever, Baby, I'm Off To San Fran

The lead weights attached to her shoes had somehow been removed. Carelessness, she presumed, was the cause of her renewed virginity. Eagerly she raised, lifted. There was no destination in mind. Only up.

The world thinks not like her. Those people do not have fingers that lace the stars or spines that curve with the waves of the ocean. Her eyes are made of grass, while theirs are filled with asphalt. How sad, that there are people in the world who do not know how to embrace what is reaching for them. Their euphamisums mean nothing to the ones who have their mouths taped shut. And now she is feeling their choke hold.

A thud and silence. A net of their lost innocence. What acid one must swallow in order to place barbed wire between a dreamer and the stars. She feels that sick sparkle. She knows that twisted turning. A lonely ending, but her tears turn to diamonds and strengthen the economies of fallen countries.

We can't all be winners.

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