Red plaster
Locked in a plaster tomb painted red,She sits upon the imaginable, and
Lulls over the mythological, theoretical.
"They should reverse themselves,"
She murmurs into her jacket sleeve.
Gentle fingers laced under a pale nose.
"The things in which I believe are the
Ones that
Cease
To
Exist."
Poetry by kaytee
Read 677 times
Written on 2008-12-19 at 23:22
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