Her eyes
By Parson Thru
- 1267 reads
Her eyes went small and dark,
like buttons. Small stones,
sunken, cold, devoid of life.
I’d seen that look before,
years ago: a gangster,
funny, but dangerous,
mad. I rose without
saying goodnight
and went to bed.
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Comments
Chilling (in the old
Chilling (in the old fashioned sense)
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For me, after gangster, I
For me, after gangster, I think you need what that gangster was doing. Pulling the eyes from a Rottweiler. Shooting slugs into a baby. Then you've got a bigger contrast with the row with a loved one. But that's just me. Like to go big.
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Eating cornflakes works,
Eating cornflakes works, 'with murderous intent'.
So this is true?
That's good.
A lot of what I write is true. But you have (or I have) to embellish. Think of what's in your heart. And then embellish. Extrapolate. But the core is what's important. But that core is hard for others to empathise with because it's so personal to you. The bells and whistles are just to make people see. And if they don't see they've still got the bells and whistles and everyone's happy.
Or not.
But in my head. They are. I am.
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No it is good. I didn't mean
No it is good. I didn't mean that. I was just suggesting a little tweak to one or two words. Drew.
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