heartbreak theatre — baz. & cleo.
Jan 1, 2019 2:29:47 GMT -5
Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jan 1, 2019 2:29:47 GMT -5
Eight p.m and I am standing atop one of the more rickety tables in the diner, making it seem like the ground below me is alive.
Cleopatra, dancin' with her extreme theatrics; it's become a mundane and tedious commonalty to every one except me.
The milkshake glasses are emptied, the audience's eyes grow flaccid and the moon watches with its silver glow as my arms become outstretch, some dialogue following after the gesture –
“And, by the fiery arc of my sword, the kraken's heart was sliced. For once, I was no princess, but a warrior and those who come in my way,
will be sorrier!”
Cheap rhymes and superfluous movements and yet, there's still a soft round of applause shortly after.
“Thank you! Thank you!”
My brown hair falls, as satin red curtains would, in an elegant bow that seems better than my fiasco of a play condensed to a whole.
Cleopatra, dancin' with her extreme theatrics; it's become a mundane and tedious commonalty to every one except me.
The milkshake glasses are emptied, the audience's eyes grow flaccid and the moon watches with its silver glow as my arms become outstretch, some dialogue following after the gesture –
“And, by the fiery arc of my sword, the kraken's heart was sliced. For once, I was no princess, but a warrior and those who come in my way,
will be sorrier!”
Cheap rhymes and superfluous movements and yet, there's still a soft round of applause shortly after.
“Thank you! Thank you!”
My brown hair falls, as satin red curtains would, in an elegant bow that seems better than my fiasco of a play condensed to a whole.
