Glass Roses

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 22, 2018

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Submitted: April 22, 2018

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What a whisper they make. 

The shadow of their spectre sulks and swells.

Such chivalrous disrespectful repugnance confuses their own words,

making it easier for them to escape.

They stands with a bouquet of words,

softly sacrificed in the heated flames of sand storm kilns,

waiting to breaking apart each glass petal like an unaccountable supernatural.

I find nothing supernatural about them.

Nothing charismatic.

They are a walking advertisement for their own self.

Their impolite view smells toward something intangible.

My outer body experience,

keeps me from speaking of,

a really great ghost story,

in which I gently sigh tender chills dampened up their spine;

then talk of their disenchanting spell,

which dies out long before, 

they can even say,

what they have already said,

to the next one,

 with a new whisper.

 

 


© Copyright 2018 Dr. Acula . All rights reserved.

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