triangles

His eyes stream mahogany leather stained with crushings of petal juice.

I don't like the hungry feeling that I get from his overly arched eyebrows.  There is a reason that The Moslems had arches.  how else could their sky high turbans brush the bottom of Allah's chin stubble, letting his wisdom rain down in the form of dead skin cells?

His eyebrows have no desire to catch the wisdom in the dna of God,
raining down to earth as pine needles from a cumbersome Christmas tree.
and his sneering mouth shouts obstreperously of his education, his breeding.

breeding is for wild beasts and aristocrats, have you noticed?

the gold leafing on your diary page merely masks the scrawl of your pen, allowing it to seem beautiful.  beautiful it is not, is an ogre dressed in women's clothing now daisy buchanan?
white as his pupils may be, his liver is yellow with the bile that has bubbled from his suppressed snottiness.

Drink the elixir from the ivy outside your bay window with the grecian statues on either side, and allow it to elevate your mind to a pedestal.  yes, you are now better.  a more perfect creature.
in your own raving mad fantasy, you are king.

-Pamplemousse