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Description
Model(s) : Mandie

But please remember me, fondly,
I heard from someone you're still pretty
And then they went on to say that the Pearly Gates
Have such eloquent graffiti
Like: "we'll meet again" and &"fuck the Man"
And &"tell my mother not to worry"
And angels with their great handshakes
But always done in such a hurry

--------------------------------------------------

this is my second in my short "trapeze swinger" series.
this is my favorite verse from it.
I hope when I reach the pearly gates, I can trace along the old paintings of peace we once relished in together at the old school.
and I'll always keep my ears open, although I know you'll always be pretty, sweetheart. (:
it makes me hope that you'll live forever like it seems you should.
or at least let me go before you.
I could never watch you go.
never pull up my black tie and listen to you leave.
and imagine your green eyes and beautiful crooked teeth walking away from me, reaching that eloquent graffiti before I do.
please let me go first.
I love you too damn much.
I promise.. "we'll meet again".

let me fall into your angela garden someday, into the crystal flowers I hope you came to grow.

- - -

pps. I may change this photo.
It doesn't do my words justice.

______________________________
Laura's Word

Today, I was suppose to write a short story about a teen breakup.
How people suffer through, blindingly coping with the loss and would rather be mauled by the neighborhood mastiff than think about it again.
Everything that they gave; And everything they lost.
Instead, I read of teen prostitution.
Of New York back alley ways, pimps and hustlers
And the flash of metal teeth shining in their mouths as the light beams down from what could be heaven,
But only a street lamp overhead.
Sought not lightning to smite the wicked,
But the reflection of a camera lens in the whites of their eyes.
Then I thought of you, my Juliet of noblest intentions.
And the day that our red string was cut on a boulevard not four miles away from here.
The way you bled in companion to the groaning gravel and asphalt, the burning metal feeling oh so heavy.
How the rain came, making thin red rivers reach soft soil on the soft shoulder to the left as engines of red and blue called like seagulls to a beached whale.
They said you felt no pain, those people not much older than us, with dead hearts and deeper lines,
In the faces that try to heal. The impact breaking the thing that helped your face, turn around and smile when I called your name.
I cursed Emily Dickinson in school.
How dare she, in her self-justified madness,
Put death upon a pedestal in which only my love for you deserves to be.
Your pigeon toed stance and lollipop-colored purple tongue,
The things that make me cry.
Now they bury you, in that oak box with handles and fancy velvet innards
But the coroner-girl made you too pretty.
Your hair done wrong and the make-up too heavy...they didn't know you like I did.
They yelled at me, when I smudged away all the lipstick, I saying
'Yes..that's the girl I loved.'
I bet you chuckled that dry laugh of yours, as you sat at the gates of heaven,
wanting to call because you forgot money again for an admissions ticket into the park of yellow and white.
I never wrote that story.
You know, the one of the breakup and the sadness.
Because I was too occupied,
remembering what I had was much to great

Description
Model(s) : Mandie

But please remember me, fondly,
I heard from someone you're still pretty
And then they went on to say that the Pearly Gates
Have such eloquent graffiti
Like: "we'll meet again" and &"fuck the Man"
And &"tell my mother not to worry"
And angels with their great handshakes
But always done in such a hurry

--------------------------------------------------

this is my second in my short "trapeze swinger" series.
this is my favorite verse from it.
I hope when I reach the pearly gates, I can trace along the old paintings of peace we once relished in together at the old school.
and I'll always keep my ears open, although I know you'll always be pretty, sweetheart. (:
it makes me hope that you'll live forever like it seems you should.
or at least let me go before you.
I could never watch you go.
never pull up my black tie and listen to you leave.
and imagine your green eyes and beautiful crooked teeth walking away from me, reaching that eloquent graffiti before I do.
please let me go first.
I love you too damn much.
I promise.. "we'll meet again".

let me fall into your angela garden someday, into the crystal flowers I hope you came to grow.

- - -

pps. I may change this photo.
It doesn't do my words justice.

______________________________
Laura's Word

Today, I was suppose to write a short story about a teen breakup.
How people suffer through, blindingly coping with the loss and would rather be mauled by the neighborhood mastiff than think about it again.
Everything that they gave; And everything they lost.
Instead, I read of teen prostitution.
Of New York back alley ways, pimps and hustlers
And the flash of metal teeth shining in their mouths as the light beams down from what could be heaven,
But only a street lamp overhead.
Sought not lightning to smite the wicked,
But the reflection of a camera lens in the whites of their eyes.
Then I thought of you, my Juliet of noblest intentions.
And the day that our red string was cut on a boulevard not four miles away from here.
The way you bled in companion to the groaning gravel and asphalt, the burning metal feeling oh so heavy.
How the rain came, making thin red rivers reach soft soil on the soft shoulder to the left as engines of red and blue called like seagulls to a beached whale.
They said you felt no pain, those people not much older than us, with dead hearts and deeper lines,
In the faces that try to heal. The impact breaking the thing that helped your face, turn around and smile when I called your name.
I cursed Emily Dickinson in school.
How dare she, in her self-justified madness,
Put death upon a pedestal in which only my love for you deserves to be.
Your pigeon toed stance and lollipop-colored purple tongue,
The things that make me cry.
Now they bury you, in that oak box with handles and fancy velvet innards
But the coroner-girl made you too pretty.
Your hair done wrong and the make-up too heavy...they didn't know you like I did.
They yelled at me, when I smudged away all the lipstick, I saying
'Yes..that's the girl I loved.'
I bet you chuckled that dry laugh of yours, as you sat at the gates of heaven,
wanting to call because you forgot money again for an admissions ticket into the park of yellow and white.
I never wrote that story.
You know, the one of the breakup and the sadness.
Because I was too occupied,
remembering what I had was much to great