

A Dying ArtLove is a dying art.A Dying Art
Cause no one cares about anyone else any more.
It is beautiful and sweet and pure and dead.
Well, mostly dead.
Those who do love are the fortunate ones.
They will live on, trusted to care for Earth and it's people after it's washed clean.
Clean of all the sinners, the vain and proud, the greedy, the slothful, the envious, the lustful, the gluttonous, and the wrathful.
When Gaia is clean of all of that, then love will flourish. And those who love and hold love sacred will inhabit Her, Our Mother.
That is where


Your DollLook at this girl. This tiny, sickly girl. She fits on your palm, under your thumb. She’s like a porcelain doll, so frail, so small. She looks perfect, doesn’t she? Perfectly made-up, perfectly attired, perfectly, wonderfully ill. Sick and dying, she lies in your gilded cage. You watch her guard-breath, gaping wide in pain. Her ribcage, catching and strained for sweet air.Your Doll
Her eyes, filled and brimming with liquid melancholy. All this and you still demand her dance. Her speech. Her show. You see how diseased, how dying, how dead she is; under all your gaudy bejewelments.  


Floating BelieverMaybe I’m just one of those people, ya know? One of those people that have no idea what she/ he is. They hear an idea they like and go with it. Floating believers if you will. We can apply it to almost anything; from material goods to religion. For instance, on some days I’m catholic, others Lutheran, still others agnostic, and the rest Zen Buddhist. I think there’s a higher being but no messiah. I believe in karma but not nirvana. I’d trust my life to an angel but maybe devils are just angels who got lost. Dante’s Inferno intrigued me with the nine circles of Hell but then I’d like to think that everyone ends up the same in the afterlife. AFloating Believer
--
-mel. [ my. emotions. lost. ]
sinners who tasted the forbidden fruit are darlingly mysterious
and for it, we are attracted...
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