You speak of midnight stars and music
Soft, pink cardigans and delicate brooches
Beauty as pure beauty
No scissors to rip the ribbon
But there's something underneath the rug
Something you've swept away
You've discarded this beauty
Swollen, apple-red eyes
Demons in the mirror
Broken plastic wings
And cigarettes
Where is your tragedy
It is the only beauty left
When the world is a wave
Above your heart

P.S. I started working on my novel today. I didn't get too far, of course, but I'm weeding through a lot of information. Organizing it in my head. People, places, times, dates. The important thing is I made a conscious effort to sit down and write something.

And so the journey begins...