the rarest of them all. the murder & turmoil that was taken to find these...
gems.
precious to our world of saving grace
are the girls covered in black lace.
vintage swirls of chains drape across my scalp
something as simple as a brass fixture
to spark conversation.
his art speaks to people
all day they spoke to me.
"im going to pretend that i am a princess today."
i have no doubt that you are.
but
i can't play with you anymore... you are the devil.
"another one? why must this keep happening?" another boy... gone. i am just too much.
my muse can't be a martyr. this is a fact.
the simplicity of my "coming here" just shifted... again. no wonder i can't find "him". he keeps changing.
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