Time passes by like a whistle in the wind. Ignored and only observed within the thickness of one's skin. The once gnawing temptation in Lula's eyes were now exchanged in kaput like a dead black swan in the lake.

It grew on her and she can only justify it by moving her legs back in forth and forward with her ballet shoes; she can only obtain her physical through the applause of everyone around her. Yet, there were trickles of blood forming inside her internal wound — as the piano strikes another note in A minor, she can only whisk in pain and undone drafts in her head. "Tis will be over", she raises her head upon the crowds heaping in excitement, she turned around and flew her wings upright and the heads of the audience once more clapped in vain and delirium nonsensical pleasure.

As Chopin's symphony were almost in the last note, she stood straight and made her way to the middle. There, she locked eyes with her forbidden lover and a small smile throughout. The intensity of another Vivaldi's winter classic can be grasp once more and another set up of white swans gathered together — formed a circle and she went in the middle. Her eyes turned black and her wings bleed another tint of jet black and crimson. The crowds awed in reverence and she soared above them. A starlet in the headless crowds and dreary sweet rustle of voices gave her another bliss.

And while she was served aloft, there were another macabre symphony that plays through the soft rough piano; it was a solemn prayer and they were the kind souls going up to the heavens.

"Go on, Salem. Play the winter magic," Salem could only look at his muse and he strike another note, passing notes two steps from their 'haven'.

Lula slowly ripped her wings for the last time and smiled to all the headless men. Her satin dress reveals her plumpy chest and an hourglass body. Lula is a goddess black swan. Men could only forward their eyes and threw her pennies once more and she could only move in her balletic conventional pose. For the last time, she flew with her black tinted wings and they were all beheaded.

The white swans began to sing in a solemn outcry until it became too remorseful. The white swans turned their heads down when they met Lula's dead eyes. Her laugh echoing the whole stadium with its own persona and it is like crawling down into waltz where it reaches their earshot. They can only sing in albeit and expensive heads started to explode.

"Two steps from hell," she sings.

I found a man of great Tilly stock,
And asked him for a frilly walk,
Unto which he said he’ll tell
The way to Heaven and the way to Hell.

“Pimply weaves of basket bread,
And a golden goose upon the head;
Let it squawk with plumpy feathers
With that you’ll relinquish worldy tethers.”

Frowned up in loofy days,
“Sir tell me of your ghangly ways!”
I loosed and cried; simply confused
“Worry not my sun and moon your muse!

For water is a half-penny to a tree,
And snickle-snacks don’t sell for free.
Yet if you must know of my tale,
Then sit there yonder and make a trail.”

However Sir, I am not meek
I have no cunning for the week.
“Your tale I do not wish to know,
Simply tell me which way to go!”

Crimpets high and yellow traps,
“You’ll lose yourself with the bats.
Go up; go down with nickle fritz,
Beware to lose yourself upon the blitz

For in rush and haste there in gleeb,
Wear ignorance for the trancy steed.
I let loose of many brumble yunk,
To sail for seas I never thunk

Yet wax and wane for waves ah-do,
And loose bracknees in multitude.
Traverse tall grass and shundy groves
And you’ll lose those things you thought you loathe.”

“My oh my old man I sigh,
For those things be near nor nigh.”
And with that I give my sullen reply
And turned and a bid a fair goodbye.
Yet upon reminiscence I bade in lye,
And whim my eye not to cry.
For in the tall tale of thy,
Taught I was to live; not die.
Question not a method sly.
But he mumbled and grumbled,
Though he never stumbled.
Living for him he never frumbled.
Many days he spent catching geese,
Upon a head knit with fleece.
OH! I should have let him talk; not cease
For to iron a book you can use yeast.
Heaven to Hell dived by two,
Heed the old man and crux with yew.
And ewe and ewe will catch the flu
Sheep don’t lead in a society so true.

You say I am a diamond
In the middle of the ocean
Least you know, about me
So take caution and precaution
For I am an iceberg
Steady in my flow
Harmless, but dangerous
Yet, I mean to glow
I shine
I welcome
I drown
I wreck
I am plumpy downwards
And just a little above the waves
So many hollows
And yes, I have a cave
Within me, I am no one
Not a spirit or a living soul
No one invited me, to come
As I somehow drifted from the pole
Alone adrift
Alone forever
When the sun shines
Tears of joy roll down
Making my head smaller
And I begin to drown
Slowly
Painfully
I am melting
I am melting
Down
○
●
○
Exiting this realm into the next,
Rising the ocean
A level higher...


©sim

so here I am, here I go.
here I put my bottom, base
on this shiny, gleamy surface.
my face gleaming with joy.
sitting, I can’t help but babble
about how every movement moves a bubble,
and how my wetness combines with
the wet and cold from underneath.
how about a nap, I ask?
how about some deserved rest?
it seems like an easy task,
I don’t mind a random pest.
laying down I feel the caress
of the cold and liquid hand.
hugging me down, I am flawless
in my sparkly pose to mend
my sleeping missed. all went
good so far, I’m thinking.
I’ll close my eyes for a wee bit.
after sundown I get up.
to sit some more, wet in my lap
enjoying my portion of sunshine knit
by those warm golden hands of her -
the almost-sleeping beauty curved.
caress me more while you can,
in the night I’ll entertain my man
the colder, bolder, plumpy gent
who’ll make wet more cold. I can
get ready to meet him, instead
more sitting there, rather than
unnecessary lifting the good-for-nothing clothes.
already having gone through these roads
I’ll lose my covers anyhow.
now ******* to wow
the silver moonlight. after all will be over
he hands me down a four-leafed clover,
laughing how good a joke that always is -
knowing where my ***** sat and sits.
I’ll smile politely and nod
understanding time to cover myself, not
anymore waiting to be in the spotlight.
reaching a new low in such height,
indecisive about what to do, I’ll choose
not to choose. sitting in wet, red,
I don’t lose.

Her round face,
The button nose,
And sweet voice.

Her glowing skin,
The plumpy chin,
And **** midriff.

Her friendly nature,
The Hïnđū outlook,
And divine soul.

Her infant thoughts,
The youthful spirit,
And zestful love.

How should I not love her?
She's my future partner of life,
And why not, she's my future wife.

Pour couple drops
of apple cider vinegar,
onto the juicy
and plumpy
fresh meat.

Apple cider,
balsamic.

Anything
that could
wash away
—the taste.

🥩