She enters as an angel; she exits as a monster

A porcelain Gem of hair and heart
The room is warm with a new wind
But the glasses are heavy on raw ridges
And clouds of pink perfume glow goldey
In a haze of flustered fancy.
The cracks in the gem are coated cleverly in cheap paint,
A well rehearsed trick of survival.
But with the rain from tears of jovial juice, the sunset loses its sun and the flaws become the features,
And the cold of the corporeal storm slams shuttering weights between words and simple conversation.
Crowds clutch cups of comfort, pouring their hands into stable suitors, or escaping to bathroom stalls where the air is a sweeter honesty.
How does one run from a stale war?
She seems a thrill to inspire beauty above belief, but became a monster reminder: we are messy.
Written by: Sarah C Louise

It became clear in an undocumented night

I saw the tricks of my affectionates.
The hats lay scattered on jasper for all not to question.
They’re poised, posing with palms sweaty and minds fretting.
Emitting words of justice and joy.
With vapours of volatile messages hidden in abandoned vaults from the times when mystery was
Hitchcock’s prediction
Or the wrath of misery manacled under the pillows
Or your mother’s disappointment as a feature film.
But here they stand, before a world of races and races and erased faces of accurate definitions, with a lightness no single sleeping babe can produce.
This is not the person who offers answers to propositions.
This is the way truth is swallowed.
With a kiss at the question
“Why do anything at all ever?”
They wore the hat to become the horror and the beauty,
And removed the cloth quickly.
All there for me to see.
By: Sarah C Louise