Two-hundred and Thirty-eight: The Golden Age

I must not forget that my middle name is Elizabeth, the first
one in my family. I am the Vodka Queen of temporary suicide,
bleached, waxed and polished, so anti-innocent that I swing
round to guilty. I will give myself to my kingdom of words;
love does not suit me. I wear an armour of poetry and I have
a tongue sharper than any sword. Some may think my autonomy
is boring, but be aware of the secrets I have sewn in my petticoats.
Some may want me and my glorified untouchability but I must not
let go; my mind and my heart must always be united: lonely matrimony.
So tonight, I will paint my face with pride -mascara so I do not cry,
and lipstick so I do not kiss- and I will go out into the night and laugh
as is my duty (and not once will I think of the empty kingdom of my room).


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

3 thoughts on “Two-hundred and Thirty-eight: The Golden Age”

  1. Oh, how many times have I left the house repeating these words to myself! …
    Not anymore, though. It’s funny how my thoughts from a couple of years back make no sense to me anymore.

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