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Lady-in-rouge
Lady-in-rouge
F Hello world! I like this website very much. I'm just here to talk about why children wear the shoes of business men, why their school uniform is too tight, and why they keep grinding their teeth. I hope I make your day better with my poetry (:
Poems1
Words79
She’s waking, and she’s walking out the door She leaves the glimmer of the red-brick, In 2009, the first. In 2023, the last. The blood is on her hands, and she can feel a white blanket envelop her. It is the first sensation she has felt in years. Mercurial and self-loathing are those tears. No more release in them. Only release in that. In this prison cell are mirrors; they glare back at her with such a hideous, emaciated, mortifying Look on her face. What she hears seems to salivate, She, a ****** mouth of a teeth-grinder. Sore. Did they see her face as the telephone rang? The woman clothed in sun weeps with fury at her, with a mask of complete, deadly, damning indifference. It is so, so sorry; waves of anguished apologies flooded its lungs as he strangled it. The blade is for you, my dear girl. As they came together, they came apart. A hand, gloved in red;something in the way. It’s a knell for this lady in red, and, oh! How she has been waiting so! The troops of glares and deafening silence she cannot bear as she races towards them; they stampede over her. She does not battle. She does not cry. She does not raise a finger. She simply lets the curtains fall. Ophelia drowns.
0
Feb 9, 2024
Feb 9, 2024 at 6:27 AM UTC
Lady-in-rouge
Modern Ophelia.
She’s waking, and she’s walking out the door She leaves the glimmer of the red-brick, In 2009, the first. In 2023, the last. The blood is on her hands, and she can feel a white blanket envelop her. It is the first sensation she has felt in years. Mercurial and self-loathing are those tears. No more release in them. Only release in that. In this prison cell are mirrors; they glare back at her with such a hideous, emaciated, mortifying Look on her face. What she hears seems to salivate, She, a ****** mouth of a teeth-grinder. Sore. Did they see her face as the telephone rang? The woman clothed in sun weeps with fury at her, with a mask of complete, deadly, damning indifference. It is so, so sorry; waves of anguished apologies flooded its lungs as he strangled it. The blade is for you, my dear girl. As they came together, they came apart. A hand, gloved in red;something in the way. It’s a knell for this lady in red, and, oh! How she has been waiting so! The troops of glares and deafening silence she cannot bear as she races towards them; they stampede over her. She does not battle. She does not cry. She does not raise a finger. She simply lets the curtains fall. Ophelia drowns.
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