love is all there is...

The Seamstress
3:49 p.m. || 2003-08-26
The wind is whirling around me, carressing my mishapen silhouette, lifting and sculpting it into something powerful, free, light.

I try to catch drops of rainbows in my palms, but they burn and the wind is angry, scorns me for my violation, and tears me to pieces, and tosses my lumpy form into a pit of consuming and endless filth.

Spirals of light and air dazzle my eyes, and the warm scent of wildflowers tickles my nose and the cyclone settles a bit. I am empty... emptiness settles it.. This gale can not rage against what I am becoming, a goddess, omnipotent, and I shall contain the fury within.

Only fantastic thinking, that, for there is no goddess here... this twisted, warped and broken shape can not capture rainbows in it's palms, or decorate it's throat and earlobes in silvery drops of morning dew.

I can only weave darkness into an ink black tapestry that captures soul and sucks life, a beautiful structure of sewed nightmares and hideous flaws...

It hangs on the wall, feeding on the whirlwind tearing me apart.



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