Miss She

Purple fragrance.
Flying freedom.
Wailing monks.
Wandering childhood.

Little boys pulling their eyelids. Pink flower-beds alluring the feminism. Chipped nails and a week of heartbreak. Boyfriend break-up, an evening of tissue papers.

Loose deserts.
Patched feelings.
Mocking beauty.
Falling satans.

She walks in beauty like the heartless. All the perfumes of Arabia fragranced the masked mirages.
Chirping birds die at dusk. Twilight laughs at the illusioned waters.
Shadows cover the lightening bangs. Blood oozes and kisses the forgotten.
Irony of irony stares at stares.

Hailing rains.
Dancing pains.
Nude nakedness.
Crying tears.

Life is just but a living. Living goes on, and on. Suicide is my passionate lover.