Rogue Lips

Ah, my lips. My everlasting luscious lips. For a long time, I have longed to have my lips to be as red as the purest drop of blood. Something that even the Kardashians would envy of having.

It was Friday night. I was busy applying my make-up on my pretty face. Carefully, I put some lip-gloss on my lips, wanting them to be as shiny as polished ruby.
“Hey, gorgeous!” I said to myself as I puckered my freshly-glossed lips.

Suddenly, my phone rang. It was one of my girls calling.
“Hey, girl!” she said. “Where are you? We’re already in the club. Hurry up!”
“Yas, yas,” I said while wiping the excess lip-gloss from my lips. “The princess is almost done. Just applying some lipstick on my lips.”
“You always take a long time putting on some lipstick,” my friend complained. “Would ya hurry your ass up?”
“Fine, fine.”
Just as I was about to end the call, I noticed something sticking out of my lips. It was a bit of dry skin. Well, I don’t want anything sticking out of my lower lip, so I pulled it out. I know it’s just small, but damn, it hurts. It left a tiny wound on my lip, which also bled for a tiny amount. I don’t mind wiping it away if it makes my lips appear more reddish.

I hurried up and went to the club as soon as I finished putting on the last layer of my bloody red lipstick. I arrive at the nightclub after a 30-minute ride and joined up with my friends.
“Hey, gals!” I greeted with my hands raised to give them a hug. “The princess is here!”
We hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks as welcome. Each of us grabbed a drink and enjoyed the wild night beneath the darkness and the laser lights.
“What are we waiting for?” one of the girls said. “Let’s go get some boys!”
And in a moment, the night just went wilder than it already was.

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The Wolf’s Fleece

It was the perfect dress; so simple, yet so elegant, how the lilies embraced the creamy hue of the blouse. Its beauty is one of a kind, such that it makes its wearer look like the goddess of spring. It was what she was wearing when we first met. At a table by the coffee shop window, she sat there quietly reading her copy of Thomas Harris’s Red Dragon. At times, she pauses to take a sip from her cup of joe. She looks around then continues reading, perhaps she’s waiting for somebody. I’m not a stalker, but it’s just my nature observing people and looking for the best things that they have.

It wasn’t easy approaching her. I had some doubts. But I want to be close to her. I had this feeling that there is something about her that makes me want to get near her. And I shouldn’t fight that, or I’ll have a hard time sleeping that night. I would never be able to count sheep for the creature’s innocent look will just remind me all the time about the lilies running against her fleece – her lovely blouse. How can a lone wolf approach a solitary sheep without scaring it away? The wolf takes a deep breath and prepares its legs for the plunge. The sheep notices, keeping an eye at its predator. She wants to escape, but the wolf desires prey.

And so, the chase begins.

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I wished to be a painter
So that I could paint
Lovely illustrations
Of every pretty girl I see

But I chose to be a writer
So that I could write
Millions of lovely poems
For my one and only girl