inverted-cutie

    When Arthur first saw Francis, it was in the midst of a colorful stream of caravans all done up in paper mache to look like dragons and castles and a giant owl taking up the rear. The Englishman had stood off to the side of the street as the caravans proceeded down the way, cutting its way through the English town like a splash of vibrancy among gray and lifeless people. Arthur could tell now, by the surrounding people in gray and black coats and hats, that this magical display had the citizens rapt by not only the color and sights, but by the people who were traveling with the overdone vessels. Women among the group were dressed in silk-

I feel like she's the arch of some beautiful piece of art that expands across the entire world; where places of imperfection lie, wicked black spots, among those she rises up like the half moon, illuminating things in her white light, and gives me a breath of hope in a place where everything is drowning in starless night.

Beautiful daughter of the gleaming moon with your long raven hair the color of night and wide blue eyes dark like the heavens, twinkling with stars festered in their womb, why do you call to, with beckoning arms, pale like the glittering moon beams, to the abominable day? Cruel master of sun who sneers in his throne, honey streaked hair that simmers like gold, and rich almond eyes that crudely seduce awaiting in pride, the adored, brilliant day, yearns to embrace and unite with the night

There is a dark tree in the middle of the wood. The tree is tall, thick, and black, with bare branches that reach up towards the sky, unseen from below as the surrounding trees block them out. Skeletal, the branches can quiver from above, though, in the cold winter wind and play a delicate song about sadness and death, mournful melody that reaches out to only me who stands before the grieving tree, as if sharing a secret with a lone, living soul, the only soul to know about its sadness. When the tree plays this song, respectfully quiet and distant at first, I can hear every agony it has ever felt. It's like watching horror unfold from a blan