The uncommon, the pretty beautiful
Peculiar almost. The charm isn’t the usual, rigid, flaky
pale or dull
It’s dark, deeply subtle, wit in her eyes
She bites her lips in confusion, is she wary?
Unaware of her quaint beauty?
Unaware of her subtle presence.
But then you decide to stand, take in in your full form

Constantly conscious, your hands hold your beauty in that ugly manner, in that grotesque manner
Pretty but no beauty emanates you. It died, when you stoop up.
Left me dull, and bereft of my intrigue, you took away some part of the charm of the day
It staggered away



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