Cesar and CabernetShe has a name like Charisse or Clarette or Gabrielle. Something French like that.Cesar and Cabernet
Of course she smokes one of those long minty cigarettes with her legs crossed on the Bistro's patio. she's ordered a salad mostly for the complimentary wine. Smiling is foreign to her like a burka in Beverly Hills. The best she can do is a smirk that says just what she thinks of vous.
She wears black because it's classic and as dramatic as she is as she ignores the waiter bringing her wine and salad. Cesar and Cabernet. It's what she ordered
Lesson in CourtesyEye contact, say goodbye. Goodbye! Eye contact! Pay attention, be attentive, eye contact makes a social man. Keep it up and keep it constant. Keep all the eye contact you can!Lesson in Courtesy
The Happy ButterflyThere once was a happy butterfly and a beautiful rainbow. The butterfly loved the rainbow, because it made him happy. the butterfly flew under the rainbow. The butterfly flew around the rainbow. The butterfly flew through the rainbow, letting all of its colours dance on his wings.The Happy Butterfly
Finally, the butterfly decided to fly over the rainbow. The butterfly did. He flew up and up and over the rainbow with all its pretty colours. he flew right into outer space where it was very cold and had no air. The butterfly promptly died. Then he wasn't so happy anymore.
BattlefearedThe warlords rage, with death their language, battle-breaking young mens' marrow - and corpse-ranks swell to widowed anguish.Battlefeared
In lovers' fields once greenly passaged, where the youthful dreamed of hope - the warlords rage, with death their language.
Their thoughts are steelclad, grimly savage, rhythmic with their tireless blows, as corpse-ranks swell to widowed anguish.
In following their brutal adage - 'fight or die' blood-etched in stone, the warlords rage, with death their language.
Ablaze, their fires rave and ravage, scorching land a
NakedHe stared at her longingly with dirt in his eyes.Naked
He spoke words to her to make her comfortable with dirt in his eyes.
He stroked her hair and whispered with dirt in his eyes.
But was it dirt or love?
Was it Love or Lust?
It Left or Leaving?
When she crawls over him and smiles in to his eyes, trying to read them.
When all she can see is want.
When he touches her and she feels nothing.
Dirt.
Love.
Left.
He wants her to feel amazing.
He wants her to want him.
He wa
AngelHer dress glows pale under the crescent moon as it gently blows in a summer breeze. He watches the rays of moonlight peirce the trees and illuminate her thin body. The night gown she always wears clings to her rib cage while her stringy black hair futily fights the wind to hide her ghastly face. The canopy above is dark and haunting despite the clarity of the night, nothing moves in the perfect blackness beyond the trees. He sings softly to her, calling her "love" and other such sweet nothings. Every night he comes to see her, every night he's there to sing and smile and every night the moon reveals more erosion of time on her frail body. HeAngel
I exist? Wow!
Alex Schmitt
is a General Writer
is Male
is a deviant since Aug 6, 2004, 12:03 PM
has 400 pageviews
is located in Canada
last visited 3w 4d 1h 39m 32s ago
is currently
is an MSN Messenger user; schmiale@hotmail
Congrats.
--
Lara Jade.
larajadephotography@gmail.com
l a r a j a d e . c o . uk
--
2% of the teenage population doesn't or hasn't tried smoking pot. If you're one of the 98% who has, copy & paste this in your signature.
Alex
--
Der folgende Satz ist eine Lüge.
Der vorige Satz ist wahr.
--
2% of the teenage population doesn't or hasn't tried smoking pot. If you're one of the 98% who has, copy & paste this in your signature.
I hope you enjoy yourself!
Benedictions
--
There is no escape from metre; there is only mastery.
- T.S. Eliot 'Reflections on Vers Libre' 1917 [link]
Previous Page1234Next Page