The Wretched & The Feeble

Julie’s cries reach all corners. Each one brings out the fearful in her. Fearfully afraid, she fears the touch of stone. Roughness is upon a cheek tempered by skin. Her eyes peer towards heaven while she walks on air. She is marvelous within the realms of loss.

Edmond places his hand upon her head to reach for a flower’s stem. Down onto the ivory surface of skin, a slide of mud falls over bare shoulders. Two fingers appearing as twin shards of glass ascend to a chin of silk. He tilts the head upwards. A smooth connection between entwined lips follow. Two pairs of eyes watch darkness. When they part, delicate gasps release a sweet scent. She utters a syllable That Edmond does not hear. From bare shoulders comes yet another hand. Fabric is twisted in its grasp. Another hand treads along a current of white, then another breathes its vapors of vice into a whirlwind. Her body is ripped into a wall. Those curling tresses twist over descending droplets. Some are caught.

Though her eyes were closed, now they’re shrouded, concealed by roughness. She peers through the cracks of the barrier. Droplets fall off lips. They tear into the floor. It is within this prism that she can no longer peer towards heaven. Her vision is limited to the confines of limitation. Her language is condensed to utterances of grief.

Julie twists her head to ward off the coming.

Sounds of emptiness collide against a void. What would fill the void besides emptiness if the subject knew all was meaningless? Her back is bent; her arms are limp; her lips part. Two scents ascend to cries of birds: one of guilt, the other of necessity. From both bodies descends a current of shame. It washes them in unholy corruption, then collapses.

She lays as one broken. Submissiveness is a virtue when it’s willing, but a curse when enforced. Images appear before her; little moments of sincerity, and challenges washed down with the flooding tide.

Some wish for love, while others wish for love to please them.

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