A beautiful girl can turn your world into dust
Beautiful girl, skin... the color of pale gore-milk, And manic-Sundays, always had her on her knees, A torn skirt, scabbed knee, and a beautiful bruise resting on her neck, Colors of rainy skies, soaking their bottoms in purple-flower dye, Speaking vaguely of dreams, thirsty fists, beg for contact Sacred wishes, remain astray, and she runs with the beasts, Tainted fur, like weeping wolves, and eyes that only whisper innocence Empty bed, canvassing a distant touch, Years of long betrayal, that skin disease infected within the moon, Like a falling soldier, Like a worthless painting, Nothing can come to focus, Beautiful girl, skin...the color of mother’s dying ghost And tragic-Sundays, always had her hidden away, That torn skirt, scabbed knee, and beautiful bruise, Single lie, fantasy-free, and beautiful girl... remains a beautiful dream...eh Written January 26th, 2002 © on Jan 26 2002 07:16 AM PST 0 • 10 • 1
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"Beautiful girl, skin... the color of pale gore-milk, ..."