The Hawkline Monster

The rows of dead odd roses rose up once again, from inside of her body, but this time as tulips. A vivid red painted on so perfectly, the colours dance in place as all ill feelings and worries are sucked away by the petals. They kiss my cross-placed, cross-dressed body so gently, I am numbed by their and my own warmth.

Tulips were never my favourite flower, but this time they matter, since they came from her own dead body, creating another new leave of incandescent grasses and strains, bringing no joy to an unfurling frame. But beating your sorrows in a waterless lake will do you no justice to the tides of the same.

When girls are coming closer to the minds of an eye, your sweet tongues shall be lashing the blossoms of skies. Relieving and reliving the virtues of a sigh reveal nothing but answers to where no mystery lies. These tulips can…

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