CLScar
May 27th, 2010, 09:34 PM
This is a writing written by my best friend Paula Herrera. (I take no credit for this.) Tell me what you think of her writing. I think it's amazing. :)
She tiptoes to me, barren as a bone. Beautiful, and canvas blank, with crying eyes and a whispering, rose petal white dress.
Lovely little girl, haunting as a grave yard's end, walking in the amber waves, going nowhere. Nearly frozen in the shadow of trees against the horizon, making the skyline look like a smile filled with jagged teeth.
How long and dark it's been since December, the colorless snow settling in my hair, my mind, and my soul. Its molecules infusing with the oxygen's, thickening the air creeping in her lungs, each breath breathed, a tiny little gift to me.
The bodies piled up against the church door, frost biting their cold faces, devoid of life, like broken bricks. Don't go near those broken bricks.
Flying, oh, so high. In the clouds, shivering and dark. Then thousand lies to make me colder, my little angel following on the sad, cracked pavement below, scarred from failed attempts to fly. her black, tear-filled eyes remember the rivers of blood, running through the gutters. How much more are we than the wars of our fathers?
Skirt fluttering, like a dove with clipped wings, desperate to dance with the soft, April wind just one more time, to make it right. She is a dove. Walking like lukewarm rain and talking like June, reminding me that there's a time to change. A nervous bird, rattling up against its cage, left to its own vices. If I could just hear your piano she plays, music floating down the hall, if I could hear your pretty voice, maybe I wouldn't surpass the dimensions I've had pounded in my head, tear through the thin cellophane between insanity and slightly beyond. The ideas, the morals, settling in my mentality, like bugs leaving their offspring in my bed. Dropping decomposing strips of tape, reminding me how alone that girl and I are, playing burning movies in my head. There's a duty to this solitude, and the rest will be explained to you, when our bodies begin to evolve.
She tiptoes to me, barren as a bone. Beautiful, and canvas blank, with crying eyes and a whispering, rose petal white dress.
Lovely little girl, haunting as a grave yard's end, walking in the amber waves, going nowhere. Nearly frozen in the shadow of trees against the horizon, making the skyline look like a smile filled with jagged teeth.
How long and dark it's been since December, the colorless snow settling in my hair, my mind, and my soul. Its molecules infusing with the oxygen's, thickening the air creeping in her lungs, each breath breathed, a tiny little gift to me.
The bodies piled up against the church door, frost biting their cold faces, devoid of life, like broken bricks. Don't go near those broken bricks.
Flying, oh, so high. In the clouds, shivering and dark. Then thousand lies to make me colder, my little angel following on the sad, cracked pavement below, scarred from failed attempts to fly. her black, tear-filled eyes remember the rivers of blood, running through the gutters. How much more are we than the wars of our fathers?
Skirt fluttering, like a dove with clipped wings, desperate to dance with the soft, April wind just one more time, to make it right. She is a dove. Walking like lukewarm rain and talking like June, reminding me that there's a time to change. A nervous bird, rattling up against its cage, left to its own vices. If I could just hear your piano she plays, music floating down the hall, if I could hear your pretty voice, maybe I wouldn't surpass the dimensions I've had pounded in my head, tear through the thin cellophane between insanity and slightly beyond. The ideas, the morals, settling in my mentality, like bugs leaving their offspring in my bed. Dropping decomposing strips of tape, reminding me how alone that girl and I are, playing burning movies in my head. There's a duty to this solitude, and the rest will be explained to you, when our bodies begin to evolve.