She heard the legends of great love, the hushed rumors, eyes bright with mischief as they tamper with the unknown. As a girl, jealousy grew within Lovely Caroline, the concept of love, utterly foreign and exotic to her tepid waters until it overtook her. Curious, she studied discreetly, studious with an ardent passion. Immature, wide eyes took in the “birds of love”, unable to understand but observed with a madman’s zeal.
As trees fell and blossomed, the bite of cool air and the tang of musk and tangerines lingered, the girl sprung-a woman with a coltish figure, ethereal grace but the knowledge to bring a man to his indomitable knees. With all the the wisdom and none of the experience, she stumbled along until she lost her way–one foot in the grave and the other in the pits of never-ending despair.
Lovely Caroline, a fool who chases the wrong type of love, she looks into the heart of many, auras the deepest of black, demons with angelic smiles,
they offered her affection and material things , finally pushing her over the precipice with malevolent intentions.They set her body aflame with sevens sins, seven songs, and seven wounds–she became nothing under the unforgiving son.As she fell, she remembered her journals, neatly penned notes and observations, Lovely Caroline is nostalgic of her naiveté past, the desire to warn, to help, overwhelming her screams of terror–
In her journals she would would write:
“The taste of your lips
A heaven that is earthbound
When I wake, I hope to find you beside me,
Hands slicks and warm as you caress and test my limits-
To please me is simple, baby don’t tease
It’s not complex, to love me wholly and fully-“
-Can love be truly in the air? A virus that lies dormant until the “one” comes along? I am doubtful, but I wonder if there can be a way to manipulate it.
–Different types of love? Are there different symptoms that effect others with various immunities? What a strange, cosmic power love can be…
She stumbles along the way to her fortunate demise, a skip in her step as she coyly grins.Legs sure as she shamelessly strides on, dungeons and cages fashioned in silks find their way to momentarily distract her ambitions. But she battles forth with a warrior’s temerity and whores’s persistence; more girl than woman, she wears a dress the color of a maiden’s blush and long, feminine hair unbound. Her lips taste of red wine and her eyes are of a seasoned carnie .
Blue lips pucker, red eyes squint
As lavender becomes all I see,
Spring blossoms, tease and fright
As I leave the garden of sunshine and curses without a backwards glance,
Crossing myself with a deep-seated prayer,
My words are whispered, my movements becoming sloth-
As I lie on the bed of crushed flowers,
A crown of poppies, threaded through the wealth of my unbound hair,
My last breathes are of heartbreak and scandal–
All for the love,
All for the love…
Mecca-Amirah Jackson 