parent type of tragedy
spring will be here, soon. winter waxes and wanes. the ice-cold deathgrip tightens and relaxes daily. we wait for the release, for convertibles (top down, my love) and sandals to be reintroduced to the world. pale skin remains. please be perfect: i love you and canada and even myself. stop setting standards - cold wives are more talented than i will ever be. the sidewalk is just like heaven plus beautiful imperfections. i don't want forever, just a few months would make me happy enough to stop smiling. just a few months so i remember what loss is. i wish my palace looked like versailles without the gaudy fake beauty that destroyed a king. i wish the civil war was romantic and lovely like gone with the wind (if you ignore the death & famine). hating someone is much too easy, these days. tossing around love with abandon is cliche, is hating stereotypical? mmmm, these beautiful rainy days make my hair wilt and flowers bloom. i am lacking the perfect ending, satisfaction, pride. read this and believe. if you ever existed, stop now. hold onto yourself and let go of me. release your grip (i talk to myself too often).
i don't find this beautiful.
i don't find this beautiful.