Misery, twisted mistress of wardrobes
feeling so beautiful, but bereft of elegance
a black soul, made out of flames and woes
enviously eying red, green, yellow and blue
feeling the fabric she wants it all
how can she when flames eat cloth?
No, black is her colour
black like in mourning, like in death
that is her trade, but she too likes variety
maybe a white dress will make her benevolent
a green one full of hope and spring-feelings
the red one may fire passions of love
but no, she is confined to black
she is the eternal mourner
the one who brings what she is
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Originally Posted On Site: 2010-03-03 05:44:57
Last Login: 01.28.12
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