"bianca" poems
I hope you’re doing okay,
but from what I’ve heard,
I don’t think you’ll ever do well.
I heard you were wasted, puking
on *** that was shoplifted
by your friend. Your ***** smelled like
oranges and everyone took you home drunk
to your mom like it was their fault.
Because I remember when you were just cutting yourself
to escape the trauma of your mom beating you
and living with runaways. Your friends raised you,
but they’ve gone to college, and you’re left
with drunk driving drug dealing boyfriends
A couple summers ago you called me when
you lost your virginity in the bed of your
obsession’s truck and you thought you
would be pregnant and drank yourself
to sleep because you thought it was decent
birth control, even though he came on your back
didn’t see you for a couple of years and thought we lost touch
because we were broken down and giving up
and I thought if you could just find a place that didn’t
party or abuse their girlfriends that you could find
a place to be where you wouldn’t feel so numb
Way too long ago I remember stories of your friends
running away to Canada, being kidnapped
or arrested, sent to the emergency room
like when you tried to **** yourself over some boy
or because you hated your mom
or you thought you were too fat
when you’re trying to forget yourself
drinking cheap alcohol and skinny dipping
I hope that you won’t have to last as long
because you aren’t meant to be ******
intoxicated or depressed, when that’s
all you’ll ever do.
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 11:40 AM UTC
There's a woman in my arms
As close as skin can get
I want to fall in love again
I'm still not ready yet
Your shadow slips between us
Like every other time
And as cold chills cool the passion
Her love can't cross the line
My arms are full of memories of you
I pull the shades and lock the doors
But yesterday comes through
As I hold her in the dark
I still hold you in my heart
My arms are full of memories of you
I found her at an upscale dance
She's all woman to the bone
But I slipped and cried your name again
And I knew the night was gone
She slipped right through my fingers
Cause her pride can't play that role
She wants all of me or nothing
But it's not in her control
CHORUS
Copyright Louis Brown
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
Today you told me you moved on
You found someone new
Someone prettier
Someone smarter
Someone who makes you more happier than I ever could
It’s crazy to think you found that person
Because I thought I was her
I gave you countless times to realize I was the one
The one who would put up with everything you put me through
The one who stuck by your side no matter what
The one who always defended you no matter the ****** situation
The one who would never leave no matter how many times you broke me down
Little did I know
You’d be the one to leave
The one to have had enough of this so called love
And it’s crazy because no one saw it coming
And I guess I should’ve listened to Bianca when she said to leave before they realize you are not worth staying for
you are a speckle of dust and i am a star and i will never think of using my radiance to make you glow ever again
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 6:29 AM UTC
Wishing a very Happy Birthday
To the sweetest girl I’ve ever known.
My muse, my soulmate, my best friend.
Just for a moment would you loan me
An ear to show you I’m glad you know me.
I could give you every gift under the sun
And remind you every minute of every day,
You’re The One!
But nothing I say or do will ever be enough
To share my gratitude for your love.
To show you, no stars burn so brightly
As your eyes in mine, Dearest Dove.
The first time I saw you, stunned as you twirled,
It was plain to see, You’re The Gift To The World!
Kristin Bianca Garcia - I Love You ❤️💙💛
Sep 21, 2021
Sep 21, 2021 at 9:30 PM UTC
Nel mio cuore,
una fata dorme.
Lungo per i sogni,
sono una povera, piccola ragazza all'interno.
Per fuori, sono una ragazza coraggiosa e matura.
Pero, io non posso fingere che non voglio essere nei miei sogni,
dove si incontra tutto lo che mi piace,
tutto che io voglio.
i principe con gli occhi azzurri,
il castello bianco dove io vivo,
il cavallo bianco,
la carrozza bianca,
tutto bianco.
perche tutto bianco?
forse vedo tutto cosi buio,
crudele,
spietato.
La gente non voglie essere tu amici,
ancora meno riconoscerti.
Vogliono solo guardarti piangere.
Vogliono guardare cuando ti realizza
che non si puoi vivere nei tuoi sogni.
Che non sara' giovane per sempre.
Che non sei piu un bambino.
Prima o dopo,
sarai uno di loro.
amaro e apatico.
non ti sognare.
Non esiste il principe con gli occhi azzuri,
non esiste il castello bianco,
non esiste il cavallo bianco,
non esiste la carrozza bianca.
Non tutto e' bianco.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
Long auburn hair bellows behind
I’ve got so much to choose from, but I’ll just change my mind.
These hazel eyes are the mark of mystery
Yeah, once I’m famous, they’ll make some history.
Got my pencil tucked ‘hind my ear
Life for me ain’t very austere.
I’ll leave to where the wind is takin’ me
No permanent home, this is what I call free.
Gimme music or gimme death.
I never knew the taste o’ your breath.
But I don’t care.
My heart still survived ev’ry freakin’ tear.
A notebook under my arm
Yeah, y’know I’m worth three times the charm.
Let’s keep traveling, c’mon, let’s just get away.
Don’t tie me down, ‘cause I’m bound to betray.
Gawky, yeah, and not too pretty
Dude, sorry, but that’s just me.
I’ve got guitars and screaming pounding in my head.
This pain doesn’t make me wanna prove my blood is red.
Just give me sunshine and a clear blue sky
And maybe some o’ that Boston Cream Pie.
Some consider me a nerd, but I’m just as clueless as you.
Ha, I’ve got way too many library books overdue.
There’re some friendships ya just gotta reminisce.
See ya somewhere beyond this oceanic abyss.
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
Familiar “Buenos dias” from Bianca again,
Sandwiched, betubed with 5000 miles to go,
The blue-black spaceness of the endless sky,
And runwayless earth of comfortable clouds,
Reflecting on what has been and is yet to come,
A million miles of poetry, pain and pleasure,
Star Trek on the TV, seared Tilapia on my plate,
Flying to you for a first-date hello-again feeling.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
It’s nice to have some holiday downtime and not be all go-go-go. I’ve even gotten in some Animal Crossing play. After 40 minutes of picking up weeds, Bianca, one of my villagers, told me she’d heard I was dead.
Later, we’re in Lisa’s living room taking turns playing songs from Spotify.
Lisa just played “Woo”, by Rihanna. When the song ends, fading out, Leeza deadpan said, “That song is pure evil.”
“You guys, I forgot to mention it but that is my energy song, it makes me feel so HOT.” Lisa adds with a chuckle.
“It has an evil vibe,” I admit. “An evil vibe,” Leeza confirms.
“Don’t be judging,” Lisa reminds us.
“Your next,” Lisa said, nodding to Leeza, “What’ve you got for us,” she speculates, “some mental health rock?”
Leeza’s had this girl-punk-rock group called “Vancougar” playing on a loop in her room. At first, I wasn’t enthusiastic but now I think they slay. Her mom’s even gotten on board, dancing “the twist” to “Philadelphia” when it rolls around. Leeza has great taste in music although she leans a bit EMO (emotionally hard core) for me. She makes me feel old by introducing us to all these new bands like “Youngest and only,” “Calling all Captains” and “Beatrice Dear.”
“I’ve got one song to play,” Leeza says, “Paparazzi, by Lady Gaga.”
“I’ve been listening to that song all WEEK!” I gasp, “I love that song, it may be her best - that’s so random,” I finish saying as the song starts.
As Paparazzi ends Lisa says, “That song has major Gwen Stefani vibes.”
“It DOES,” I agree, “It could be “Cool” or “Sweet Escape.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Leeza agreed, “shoutout to No Doubt.”
Leeza says, “I have a conversation topic: What’s something we all acknowledge is cheugy but we still do anyway?”
“Being blonde,” I say, which gets stitches of laughter because it’s true and Lisa and I are.
“That’s true, that’s fair,” redheaded Leeza laughs. “Anyone blonde is dead to me,” which gets her a pillow in the face.
“Ok, I’m going to come for a lot of people,” Lisa says, “but yogurt, yogurt is cheugy.”
Leeza gasps, “You think yogurt.. It’s not cheugy!” she practically yells, “It gives MOM.”
Dec 28, 2022
Dec 28, 2022 at 3:33 PM UTC
Bianca Lorenzo
Your pretty wings stretch farther than the arms I long to hold
to fly into the breathe that speaks of sultry whispers in my ears
is what I dream of.
Your eyes can't reach my beauty
my soft exterior won't allow it
I seek the remedy that allows my heart to beat when i can't see you
so I close my eyes to feel the strokes that part my indecisions
Love took time by storm when it left us alone in quiet rooms
you leave my tongue heavy with the words that I can't roll out
and my heart beats in intervals of two
once for me
and once for you...
James Desire
Reach for the sky
so that these pretty wings may carry you too
because we both dream of a shared solitude
that would ignite our souls and express our passion
so why not make our dreams a reality...
Steel chains cage my heart
with a lock in the middle that requires your touch
free me and reveal everything that the smile contains
hidden inhibitions that call out your name
Our bodies rage in responce to each others animalistic phase
a struggle to tame our hearts begin whenever we reach this stage
so i'll give you all my love
and feed the beast that resides within us both
so we can both find ecestacy in each other....
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 9:43 PM UTC
I
quel giorno, quando mi hai lasciato sola sul prato bagnato, sono morta per ben 13 secondi & tu non te ne sei accorto neanche.
** lavato la mia faccia con whiskey scadente & tutto è andato per il meglio.
II
se dovessi scegliere un'altra vita vorrei tanto che fosse un'esistenza fatta di cristallo & acqua ghiacciata, penso al profumo della lavanda e a lunghi, lunghissimi nastri blu.
III
passo il mio tempo a graffiare con le chiavi la vernice delle auto e a raccontare in simboli tutto ciò che non so
il mio tempo perduto in cambio del tuo primogenito.
IV
vivevamo in una casa bianca & tu sparavi ai conigli davanti ai miei occhi & io ti amavo ma allo stesso tempo speravo di poter sparare in faccia te, faceva caldo, a casa nostra era sempre giugnoluglioagosto, esisteva solo una stagione, nelle altre dormivamo.
V
io sono viola scuro, sono polvere, sono sostanze luccicanti, sono fumo, sono nulla, sono tutto ciò che intasa i tuoi polmoni, tutto ciò che ti rovina il fegato.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 7:53 PM UTC
Ma tu continua e perditi, mia vita,
per le rosse città dei cani afosi
convessi sopra i fiumi arsi dal vento.
Le danzatrici scuotono l'oriente
appassionato, effondono i metalli
del sole le veementi baiadere.
Un passero profondo si dispiuma
sul golfo ov'io sognai la Georgia:
dal mare (una viola trafelata
nella memoria bianca di vestigia)
un vento desolato s'appoggiava
ai tuoi vetri con una piuma grigia
e se volevi accoglierlo una bruna
solitudine offesa la tua mano
premeva nei suoi limbi odorosi
d'inattuate rose di lontano.
1.1k
Lost; Lost in her Massive beautiful eyes
Oh Bianca, My Seraph in disguise
her skin has diamond patterns
Her voice like my dear own Mother's
For her I lay Spineless for her heart is my own Metropolis
When She feels lonely I will not leave her in Isolation
I reckon she does not feel the same way
I hate my own premonitions
This love For her does not make me wary
Oh Bianca You are my Sanctuary
and when life gets meaningless you are my Dictionary
You are so Unique! Your Vogue and your Face, none can compete
You make my outermost shell complete
Please do tell me, does Noble love exist?
Oh Bianca, You I can't resist
Your body is so Luminous and you light up my entire Universe
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
Sole di mezzogiorno, nel luglio felice, sulla piazza deserta:
piazza lontana di città lontana, tu ed il tuo uomo,
e quello era il mondo.
Bianca nella tua veste, bianca vibratile fiamma tu pure,
nell'abbaglio d'incendio dell'aria.
Bianco il tuo riso perduto nel riso di lui, fresco di polla il
tuo riso d'amore tra il vasto fulgere ed ardere.
Non sarebbe discesa la notte, non sarebbe venuto il domani,
tua la luce, tuo l'uomo, tuo il tempo.
Fermasti il tempo in pieno sull'ora solare per cui in terra
tu fosti divina:
il resto è ombra e polvere d'ombra.
1k
I turbini sollevano la polvere
sui tetti, a mulinelli, e sugli spiazzi
deserti, ove i cavalli incappucciati
annusano la terra, fermi innanzi
ai vetri luccicanti degli alberghi.
Sul corso, in faccia al mare, tu discendi
in questo giorno
or piovorno ora acceso, in cui par scatti
a sconvolgerne l'ore
uguali, strette in trama, un ritornello
di castagnette.
È il segno d'un'altra orbita: tu seguilo.
Discendi all'orizzonte che sovrasta
una tromba di piombo, alta sui gorghi,
più d'essi vagabonda: salso nembo
vorticante, soffiato dal ribelle
elemento alle nubi; fa che il passo
su la ghiaia ti scricchioli e t'inciampi
il viluppo dell'alghe: quell'istante
è forse, molto atteso, che ti scampi
dal finire il tuo viaggio, anello d'una
catena, immoto andare, oh troppo noto
delirio, Arsenio, d'immobilità...
Ascolta tra i palmizi il getto tremulo
dei violini, spento quando rotola
il tuono con un fremer di lamiera
percossa; la tempesta è dolce quando
sgorga bianca la stella di Canicola
nel cielo azzurro e lunge par la sera
ch'è prossima: se il fulmine la incide
dirama come un albero prezioso
entro la luce che s'arrosa: e il timpano
degli tzigani è il rombo silenzioso
Discendi in mezzo al buio che precipita
e muta il mezzogiorno in una notte
di globi accesi, dondolanti a riva, -
e fuori, dove un'ombra sola tiene
mare e cielo, dai gozzi sparsi palpita
l'acetilene -
finché goccia trepido
il cielo, fuma il suolo che t'abbevera,
tutto d'accanto ti sciaborda, sbattono
le tende molli, un fruscio immenso rade
la terra, giù s'afflosciano stridendo
le lanterne di carta sulle strade.
Così sperso tra i vimini e le stuoie
grondanti, giunco tu che le radici
con sé trascina, viscide, non mai
svelte, tremi di vita e ti protendi
a un vuoto risonante di lamenti
soffocati, la tesa ti ringhiotte
dell'onda antica che ti volge; e ancora
tutto che ti riprende, strada portico
mura specchi ti figge in una sola
ghiacciata moltitudine di morti,
e se un gesto ti sfiora, una parola
ti cade accanto, quello è forse, Arsenio,
nell'ora che si scioglie, il cenno d'una
vita strozzata per te sorta, e il vento
la porta con la cenere degli astri.
1.1k
Ritrovarmi in questo ovale
con un legame vitale
in solitudine a volteggiare
con l 'infinito aspettare
di qualcosa.
Sognare
di poter camminare
in un nuoto perpetuo
di pensieri
intravedendo una luce bianca.
La fine di tutto.
Uno schiocco
Un pianto.
La nascita della vita in bracccio a giganti biancheggianti.
Crescendo vidi cose senza senso
cosciente del perduto collettivo senno.
Vidi uomini con biancheggianti vestiti
baciare e non procreare
di fronte a un freddo altare
in nome di una croce
e un continuo narrare.
Esseri travestiti
professare falsi miti
e scuole dove si imparava a vivere
lasciando l'intelligenza reprimere.
Sicuri di un tranquillo lavoro
si sedevano su un falso trono
lasciando che un finto quadrato
rubassero loro gli anni d'oro.
Ed ora piano piano mi invecchio
sperando ancora in un qualche cambiamento.
Disteso in un biancheggiante letto
rimango cosciente che della vita
e delle esperienze connesse ad essa
non mi interessa piu niente.
Tutto improvvisamente si illumina di bianco
e mi appresto al grande salto.
Ma con me non posso portare nient'altro
che un tatuaggio
situato dentro al cuore
con impresso dentro il nome
di quella persona che in questa vita
mi diede tanto amore.
984
Does not mean I am a *****
Yes, ******* is fun. Bianca tells me so,
Greg too, and his crew.
You think so,
we all do, but I want more.
It all starts the same, with an ordinary encounter.
She starts with her name and where she's come from.
I want to hear about her life;
her home/ her heart.
You know that saying.
I can feel curiosity filling me,
The ropes of our bond tighten with each word.
I ask him questions, just to hear him speak.
I stare deep; behind his eyes, undivided.
His company gives me purpose,
Gives me ecstasy.
I can see her everything.
The walls she's built, tore down to rebuild;
The preciousness of what she protects.
We are nothing but human.
We need love, companionship, friendship.
That does not make me a *****
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
Le dicevano: - Bambina!
Che tu non lasci mai stesa,
dalla sera alla mattina,
ma porta dove l'hai presa,
la tovaglia bianca, appena
ch'è terminata la cena!
Bada, che vengono i morti!
I tristi, i pallidi morti!
Entrano, ansimano muti.
Ognuno è tanto mai stanco!
E si fermano seduti
la notte intorno a quel bianco.
Stanno lì sino al domani,
col capo tra le due mani,
senza che nulla si senta,
sotto la lampada spenta. -
È già grande la bambina:
la casa regge, e lavora:
fa il bucato e la cucina,
fa tutto al modo d'allora.
Pensa a tutto, ma non pensa
a sparecchiare la mensa.
Lascia che vengano i morti,
i buoni, i poveri morti.
Oh! la notte nera nera,
di vento, d'acqua, di neve,
lascia ch'entrino da sera,
col loro anelito lieve;
che alla mensa torno torno
riposino fino a giorno,
cercando fatti lontani
col capo tra le due mani.
Dalla sera alla mattina,
cercando cose lontane,
stanno fissi, a fronte china,
su qualche bricia di pane,
e volendo ricordare,
bevono lagrime amare.
Oh! non ricordano i morti,
i cari, i cari suoi morti!
- Pane, sì... pane si chiama,
che noi spezzammo concordi:
ricordate?... È tela, a dama:
ce n'era tanta: ricordi?...
Queste?... Queste sono due,
come le vostre e le tue,
due nostre lagrime amare
cadute nel ricordare! -.
912
I love it when I see them.
Those two lady beauties, those twin faces.
Their skin is like the snowy Sierra mountains in winter,
A Bianca so pale and that catches all the light shining around them.
Those twin smiles radiate two mysteries of the same coin.
One a mystery so solemn and careful, you could never sneak up on it.
The other a playful mystery, that with a rascal excitement
Is ready to drag you with it to find the answer.
They are beautiful!
The most unique beauty I have yet beheld.
Their presence is like a storm in the far distant sky,
The air is warm prior the approach of something powerful.
Their singing voices echo through the air and like a siren’s song
Brings you in so you will listen closer.
Don’t stop singing. Don’t stop.
I am like a smiling child when I see them,
Those two twin beauties.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
E cielo e terra si mostrò qual era:
la terra ansante, livida, in sussulto.
Il cielo ingombro, tragico, disfatto:
bianca bianca nel tacito tumulto
una casa apparì sparì d'un tratto;
come un occhio, che, largo, esterrefatto,
s'aprì e si chiuse, nella notte nera.
744
They called me an iconoclast
Blessed
With a templar-like fervor,
Fueled by my devotion
To the intangible potentate, Logic --
Omnipresent, omnipotent.
But how could I be?
Not with Katarina and Bianca
Still resting in grottoes.
Not when I still stop by now and then,
Meandering in from my countless excursions,
Traipsing about in my mind,
To leave a few trinkets
And light some candles
And maybe a murmured prayer.
Those snapshots of memory
Revisiting me on rare occasions now,
But not a moment of recollection goes by
Without remembering
Katarina
Writhing beneath my grip,
Her slender fingers entwined with mine,
Or Bianca
Enclosing me in her warmth,
Her gnarled hands reeking of cigarettes.
Their I love yous, I like yous,
Whispers and kisses,
All branded on my skin.
No, sir.
Label me not
As one,
Not when I still keep their memories
On a pedestal,
Not when I still heave sighs
Of longing and fondness
To herald in nostalgia
And its hangers on,
Regret and despair,
However blasphemous.
An iconoclast I am not.
Anything but.
Revile me
For exalting heretics.
I deserve the rack and the stake
For becoming
Just as much a heretic
As the ones I was tasked to condemn.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
Vedova, lavorò senza riposo
per la bambina sua, per quel suo bene
unico, da lo sguardo luminoso;
per essa sopportò tutte le pene,
per darle il pan si logorò la vita,
per darle il sangue si vuotò le vene. -
La bimba crebbe, come una fiorita
di rose a maggio, come una sultana,
da la materna idolatria blandita;
e così piacque a un uom quella sovrana
beltà, che al suo desio la volle avvinta,
e sposa e amante la portò lontana!...
... Batte or la pioggia dal rovaio spinta
ai vetri de la stanza solitaria
ove la madre sta, tacita, vinta:
schiude essa i labbri, quasi in cerca d'aria;
ma pensa: "La diletta ora è felice... ".
E, bianca al par di statua funeraria,
quella sparita forma benedice.
755
"Credi che il tuo sia vero amore? Esamina
a fondo il tuo passato" insiste lui
saettando ben addentro
la sua occhiata di presbite tra beffarda e strana.
E aspetta. Mentre io guardo lontano
ed altro non mi viene in mente
che il mare fermo sotto il volo dei gabbiani
sfrangiato appena tra gli scogli dell'isola,
dove una terra nuda si fa ombra
con le sue gobbe o un'altra preparata a semina
si fa ombra con le sue zolle e con pochi fili.
"Certo, posso aver molto peccato"
rispondo infine aggrappandomi a qualcosa,
sia pure alle mie colpe, in quella luce di brughiera.
"Piangere, piangere dovresti sul tuo amore male inteso"
riprende la sua voce con un fischio
di raffica sopra quella landa passando alta.
L'ascolto e neppure mi domando
perché sia lui e non io di là da questo banco
occupato a giudicare i mali del mondo.
"Può darsi" replico io mentre già penso ad altro,
mentre la via s'accende scaglia a scaglia
e qui nel bar il giorno ancora pieno
sfolgora in due pupille di giovinetta che si sfila il grembio
per le ore di libertà e l'uomo che le ha dato il cambio
indossa la gabbana bianca e viene
verso di noi con due bicchieri colmi,
freschi, da porre uno di qua uno di là sopra il nostro tavolo.
754
I stood before the mirror
Transfixed by the image
Staring back at me
I knew her
The woman’s hair was long and brown
Her face lovely and long
Her eyes were light blue
She smiled knowingly at me
I knew she was me
I had seen her in my mind
I had heard her soft voice
At one time I had loathed her
Now I loved her deeply
Bianca looked knowingly
Into my tired eyes
It was like she was a non-corporeal lifeform
That I couldn't touch with my hands
A specter perhaps?
I smiled back wishing
With all my inner being
That she could leave the reflection
And we could embrace
But I cannot truly touch her
She is encased in my mind
Far from my consciousness
Separated from my life
Only part of who I am
I hated to turn away
From the smiling fresh face
I didn’t want to see
As her vision faded away
I stood a moment longer
I reached out my hand to feel her face
I gently stroked the cold glass edges
Of the mirror
The image reached back
Suddenly I felt so overwhelmed
Knowing I could not touch her
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks
The agony of our isolation swept over me
I brushed my tears away
Smiling one last time I turned to go
Behind me I could hear her sobbing
She was so lost, so lost
The pain was almost unbearable
How terrible is the loneliness
We must suffer in the world
How much more so it must be
For the images we have formed
I wept for the soul
I had created in my mind
The image of who I wished I could be
Forever separate, yet one
Trapped in a mirror
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 8:28 AM UTC
[Enter Marco, a young Milanese courtier.]
_It is he, is it not, whose honeyed barbs drip with sweet condescension, and whose kisses taint fair Bianca’s lips with similar speech? Behold, how he frames her vision to reflect his own and directs her preferences accordingly.
Fie, I have been April’s fool in believing Antonio my ally. His encouragement was as sweetmeats to a greedy child; but I have chipped a tooth on that candy-coated morsel and found its centre to be flavoured with deceit.
My cousin Bianca, whose name speaks directly to her nature, whose light once made shadows dance for joy; how extinguished she appears now. For as Antonio sparkles and splutters at her side, her brilliance flickers and fades.
Lo, how he has seeded his untruths within her honest heart. His lies smuggled like contraband, his blandishments the articles of his trade. God’s wounds! Such a purveyor of frippery and falsehood I have never met the equal of.
It is high time to confront this sneak thief in his lurking-hole and to uncloak his creeping connivance. I shall bottle my rival’s words and choose carefully the occasion for their uncorking; then pour for the crowd a rich liquor of ripe requital._
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 3:03 AM UTC