The Beautiful People

For the Haven’s advancement, the Elite may extend a courteous backhand, or a fist wrapped with opinion that some may mistake for abuse. Dante’s girl fell from her steeple head first into a cauldron of pride, now her feeble corpse twitches trying to vomit the blackest pitch grey. Stains her soldier’s dress blues duty has him answer the bench’s call. Gaveled verdicts now deleted, appeals one site’s ambitions. Often found in a library, their little boy plays with his toy box full of straw men and overused emoticons. Each breath billows the forge, black smoke void of The Father, they beat a gift’s beauty into a weapon, the cutting edge of the Deceiver’s con.