Velvet Gown,d.d2s&psig=AFQjCNGQmaQWwVe2z_gi4A9TbYRVFoF24w&ust=1416317733445025
Vultures glare from their blood stained chairs,
As she spins and twirls in her velvet gown,
Her soul for sale they do not care,
She spins and twirls in her velvet gown,
Talons grasping, their sneers leering near,
She spins and twirls in her velvet gown,
Her face crumbling they indulge in black tears,
She spins
and slips
in her velvet gown,

Scarlet juice on the walls, notes cascading like piss,
She weeps and shrieks as they burn her velvet gown.




Hopes and dreams from the untainted young

Stale smoke filled my blackened lungs, the nicotine rush causing me to become lightheaded, closing my heavily made up eyes visions of my blurred future flooded my naive mind. Perhaps I will spontaneously move to Paris, learn French, meet a beautiful poetic Frenchman, have mind blowing sex and sip espressos in an arty overpriced cafe. Perhaps I will become an acclaimed novelist, get rich from my carefully sculpted stories, create worlds from my expensive oak desk. Live a life of comfort and freedom. Perhaps I will fall in love, the mutual adoration from my perfect partner leaving me floating through life undeterred by wars, bills and petty drama. Stubbing my cigarette out I wondered if my picturesque hopes and dreams reflected those of other uncertain young individuals. You can not fantasise about working fifty hour weeks in a dead end job, to pay for your disappointing two bedroom house, ungrateful children and small pension. Dissatisfaction and boredom eating your soul, turning you into the person you once claimed you would never become.