A horse with smoking nostrils. Foaming. Wild-eyed, Hungarian heritage of his cousins, who were once men.
A Lady, full of pride on this horse, his horse, his powerful double. Distant and so close. Distant eyes elsewhere, foggy head, ears clogged, near the body palpable, the hoarse breathing, the breath of the smoker.
One and one at a time, possible. She and her
wreak havoc.
Like Achilles they destroy the masses, these men without faith and dreams that never will reach the heights where the eagles fly, somewhere in Austria, nor the abyss, deep, far, far away, his head under the water. Destruction, destroy, these men are horrified, they put sticks in the wheels, they are synonymous with deprivation, they never managed to be one, even at the last day of their lives.
She is proud because it is Elizabeth. She did not need them, because they no longer need it. That's what she would say if the horror does not plaguing his soul. The Amazon
ragged decided wearing his best clothes for today. Thin forever, because it is his will and his desire is to remain a child, the girl she was.
She does not remember really. It was there years ago. She remembers, through the tiny abrasions on her heart in mourning, this light-bodied, supple body, and if she can show others his eternal youth behind her mouth sealed, wrapped in black body this will be his safe conduct. She can do a cartwheel without breaking bones, but it is an illusion, see the show and watch it well.
The witch turned his horse's legs, these legs nerve she has transformed, shaped. She borrowed the little rocking horse for Rudolph, this little horse very soft to the touch, and round, she sawed the basis of his being, and then she has honed this basis, long time to do its best defense . Something Wicked This Way Comes and nobody comes close, it crushes and kills, cut and size, Madam Bluebeard, because it can no longer be limited to cutting men for their skin hanging in his closet.
Memories, after a few seconds, begin to stink.
Our Lady of Sighs, on his white steed, dreams Chevalier d'Eon or Lancelot, or perhaps Lohengrin if the spirit of the latter was not the dream of another mind, with shadows and visions, in a noble head with dark curls.
Elizabeth looks away, his horse and smiled. A deadly joy, joy because this is the cure.
eyes, two marbles, porcelain or cat's-eye, two eyes round and staring, which are those of the Cavalier. She hides burst of modesty, and sail with them the joy that consumes mad. Crushing. Crushing perspective. Elizabeth radical.
Disdain said. It is not cowardice that makes him look away. Vienna, unless it is a much more wild, abandoned, as this man has abandoned, unless it is otherwise, this man who had dared to believe she was well, when she was another. The hand on the neck of his steed shows his affection, his gaze towards the east, shows his confidence.
Elizabeth, perched on the heights of his attic, his fantasy death and that of his family, and forges ahead. Take my photo and I ape man. The horse. The look of the horse. That is the true light, the sum of all the rage and all human fears, the lunar light, the eye of the prisoner, the look of one who has forgotten everything, or has forgotten nothing. The amount of love, that crazy, because too much love student and belittles those who love him, he soon finds himself pilloried, and the horse wondered why so much love, when so many suffer and wither love, true love he thinks, no one fools , love children, yes, love of children, little monsters exclusivity. Elizabeth knows those will hang himself rather than lose the love and wooden crosses, iron crosses, I would go to heaven if I die because I have spent my life in Hell.
Rictus on the long face and white horse, in front of Lent that yearns and tramples hanged before June.
It sounds the angelus and calls it the Crows, kids laughing, crying Crow! divinity bitter! Change yourself in Columbus!
And the plague of me if my eyes are not eaten at once, or china eye-eye cat, devoured by the nose widening the orbit.
The horse continued its ascent, echoes in his ears with music, the creaking of a heavy string cello, and the pace of its divine or diabolical, it destroys the human body, because he feels destructive today Like all other days is beneficial, and it is beneficial, four eyes behold the dead hanging from trees that had almost succeeded - they had so much heart! - Elizabeth and takes off his mask. (Drawing Alfred Kubin.)
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