Her Jewels

Had to write something about her at some point.

She takes them for a turn around the room.

One of them is her boyfriend, the other her best friend. 

Or one of her best friends.

You see, they are her jewels.

Glimmering.

She's a small package of malice, compact and stirring inside.

It seems to me the only thing she wants is things.

Things to love

Worship

And adore her.

Except her cruel brown eyes, round on her mean face,

Can't distinguish between things and human beings.

 

This vast, sprawling poison we have named materialism owns her life.

I avoid her; she is the black death.

I am a threat to her entire existence.

Or perhaps I wish I was.

Reviews

[mope]

I like the way that the trinkets represent so much. And that the respective emotions are also treasured in a way.