curiositiesand
Twang and thrill
not quite wordlessly
this is a song of the people
democratized art
how uncouth
the North says
and would they be so wrong?
Her hugs were vices, dangerous in that suffocating way. But still, I never refused them. Wheter it was perversity on her part or mine, wasn't certain, but it was all the same.
I am melodrama, hiding in nooks, crannies, and towers. Winged drama. Winged tragedy. A trope, really. How marvelous, how strange. I am become a symbol.