Perfect Girls
“I’ll show you how to really live” spouts out her pursed lips , pours out like a tin canister starting a stream.
Tracing along is mountains of gleam where smiles creep along caverns and the stars coincide bursting with time, leaving a sparkle in her eyes.
She radiates ultraviolet fireworks of melancholy grace that recite the whole ballet on your skin dancing along the guiding goosebumps
She is simply perfect.
She premeditates each step, practices the raise of a handle to be so neat that the fae can sleep soundly.
Her voice is as gentle as the feathers on silk wings.
So elegant many want to pin her up.
Observe through a microscope,magnify in on the slivers of existentialism, pluck out her flaws with tweezers, leave her for dead shivers branding her ego.
She craves perfection so much so she succumbs herself into artificial amber sap, preserving her beauty, Hardening her authenticity.
Beautiful girls don’t cry. Pretty girls don’t whine. Perfect girls live life as A play with the world as a stage.
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I’m finally writing again and off my schedule of reblogging old work (it’s a lil eh cause I haven’t written in months) also if you couldn’t tell “her” is me lmao.
