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Wistful plightings of sorrow, ruin, slaughter, despair, violation, surrender, sacrifice.
Glimmered for LuLu LeSuere with the weight of magical charms.
Easily seduced by sadness and desires that stretched to the sky, beyond beautify.
With a travesty’s penchant for abomination, a wall of devout ferver drowning in tales of power and horror, hopes diffused to the most shocking ravishment and damnation.
The day occurred as the day occurred. Numbers and games were difficult to learn. LuLu the little girl came and went, had little control over any of it. Like she was a different person. As dreams blew her onward.
She was slow to talk and her body wobbled like lard, every learning was hard.
Love that is death’s candle, love that is death’s wound. Love that is crossing the bar. Love that is the crack of doom.
Tender garbled toils of panic and wonder.
Touching trashy trumpery bundling like an explosion of sex into pearls of the desperately woebegone. Presentiments flooded out and pooled up, chock full of alarming impassionedness.
Sentiments encroached, lustered, swoon.
Clambering after the fall.
LuLu LeSeuer’s heart, indelibly prey to cupid’s murrain like embers in the absence of mind, swarmed by the danger of light –
Wayward, fanciful, something of the insurmountable grotesque –
A most variable and confusing miracle, LuLu worked as must, living however consisted of somewheres else – far below the horizon.
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