…and the Beast

The dream was too real

to not become alive in her,

so fully,

breathakingly

alive

that it was on her lips,

her pores,

her fingernails.

It was as if every part

of her was stretching out

and shrinking in,

a gorgeous monstrosity –

we love her now,

destroyed,

she who once was

nothing but pretty words.

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5 thoughts on “…and the Beast

  1. “she who was once nothing but pretty words.” This is a lovely and gut-wrenching line.I find this poem deeply horrifying (But in a good way.) It sneaks up on me and pounces. It’s like a quiet girl who’s suddenly a werewolf with the full moon. Only not fantasy. This is real, breathtaking, tragic, alive and present. You went deep and good with this one. Keep writing. Alice

Thoughts? I love those.

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