She was my black rose, a broken angel I could hug and drift away with into peaceful oblivion.

I envy people that know love. That have someone who takes them as they are.

One hand was behind his back, and he held it out, presenting a bouquet of white and smoky purple lilies.

“They’re straight from the underworld, by the way. They are everlasting. They won’t die.

The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.

She felt the cold blast from the sterile air conditioning on her bare arms and thighs, as she ambled down the center of the shopping complex's ground floor.

The scene was a swirl of candy bright lights--the Victoria's Secret fuchsia signboard, signboards which lured one to purchase "confidence," or "sexual appeal," or whatever it was that was being advertised--the fluorescent lights in each store, contrasting with the shiny, black-tiled walls and eye-catching speckled marble tiles on the ground.

One could lick the floor--the tiles were spotless, clean like the fake air she was breathing in, like the atoms and cells in her that were decaying in stale neglect.

It didn’t belong to anything and nothing belonged to it. It searched for eternities trying to find a host… a carrier… a harlequin or a prophet that would have brought meaning and form to its reasons, but that never happened..