serah and the freakshow

...to the girl with mismatched neon socks…

an effigy of a churchyard angel whose name was etched in garnet stones resonated aftershocks with its heartbeat, its destiny writ in water. terrace rose periwinkles rippled on its back, like carnival flowers blooming from cherokee fault lines. grape berries disgraced its jaded lips whilst the evening sky sprouted fleur de lys feathers from its mouth, carving the gypsy moon with its teeth.

i remember how she used to dress up like a malibu barbie doll with toki doki tattoos and hotpink crewcut curls as she sips milk tea from a starbucks coffee cup, her fingernails stained with a french manicure. but now, her ash-smoke hair was scandalously long, tracing the curves of her back and dying to touch the floor.

she loved to remain anonymous, her maleficent eyes flirting with newspaper caricatures and tabloid scandals. as i asked her where her rabbit hole was buried, she coyly whispered, "serah, welcome to the freakshow" while smoking an e-cigarette.