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Literature Text
Hollow.
There is no other word fitting enough to describe her eyes. If one could even call them eyes, for to me they were shadows, sunken black holes in a sunken white face. Paper thin, her pale skin stretched painfully over razor sharp cheekbones, so thin it was almost translucent.
Her lips were two dead roses. Once, there had been colour there. Youth, life. Now, the blossoms had withered, leaving only two white husks to remain. Barely there, she was a ghost, a spectre of her former self, all the years of bitterness and hatred and pain bleaching away her beauty.
A sheet of sorrow, akin to a shroud, was the black veil that frosted over her wasting countenance. With overwhelming grief it deepened the valley of shadows cast over her face. As I looked, it was as if she was a part of those shadows. Her face sank into them, her head and shoulders engulfed. The woman was in darkness.
The woman was in black.
There is no other word fitting enough to describe her eyes. If one could even call them eyes, for to me they were shadows, sunken black holes in a sunken white face. Paper thin, her pale skin stretched painfully over razor sharp cheekbones, so thin it was almost translucent.
Her lips were two dead roses. Once, there had been colour there. Youth, life. Now, the blossoms had withered, leaving only two white husks to remain. Barely there, she was a ghost, a spectre of her former self, all the years of bitterness and hatred and pain bleaching away her beauty.
A sheet of sorrow, akin to a shroud, was the black veil that frosted over her wasting countenance. With overwhelming grief it deepened the valley of shadows cast over her face. As I looked, it was as if she was a part of those shadows. Her face sank into them, her head and shoulders engulfed. The woman was in darkness.
The woman was in black.
Literature
aches
my body twitches chest cracks cracks
eyes water wrists rolls shoulders fall in tense up
please is not enough
you will not understand any better than i do
why this place smashes a hole under my ribs every passing day
bars my arms in
and nothing is enough but
leaving
is impossible
Literature
Black
Black
There's a burst of energy through the stillness. The rocks hang as a world broken and fallen to ruin, but one thing keeps in motion. Defiant to the end.
It's a half-finished arc, then a stab, a half-finished arc, then a stab. The scythe whips through the air like an instrument of malice, only to keep a life alive.
He's but a boy, a child in a man's shadowy form. His eyes aren't of death, or divorce, or disease, but of pure emptiness. He's grasping at life, but can't hold on by himself.
The scythe clamors against the walls as it gnarls its footholes, breaking the new earth like sledgehammer to sandstone. How can it stay up? O
Literature
Untitled
Once upon a time
I reached for the stars
And tried to climb
The sun's golden bars
But those rays of light
Cut short my flight
I reached for the stars
And fell from the sky
My hopes now scars
I can't justify
To myself alone
I am she who has flown
I tried to climb
Like Icarus the son
Melted wax come noontime
With nothing won
No promises made
No trophies gained
The sun's golden bars
Whose sentinels maintained
The ghosts of Mars
Those who remain
Close to my heart
Forever apart
The rays of light
Have faded away
The moon now night
Where the world decays
And I'm still fading
The sun never staying
Cut short my flight
Left behind it all
I try to
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After reading this excellent book, I was inspired to write my own interpretation of this ghastly lady. Hope y'all like it. Cheers.
© 2014 - 2024 MissEllaAllanPoe
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