Macy’s Closet Skeletons

Macy whisked me away with her soft, pale hand. The suitor in me trailed the footsteps of her hourglass frame to a salty lake. A nervous smile danced in her enchanting hazel eyes, sparking a pleasant surprise in a clever disguise. However, alibis hid white lies in the wind, whipping the waves into a frenzy. There and then, Macy strips to her—I’ve never tanned a day in my fucking life—birthday suit. And if I don’t shudder disturbia’s misery, this will never resolve, save to the ashes of a medicated skeleton. Thumbing her nose at her Catholic school, we knew what happened here couldn’t leave the closet of regret.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2023 AC)

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