She lays on the street, still as can be. Vulnerable, and so gorgeous and frail that as soon as you touch her, she would break into a million tiny pieces. She can feel the cool night air pulling the redness out of her cheeks, the heat from her body, same as the asphalt. Tears glisten down her pale, porcelain face. Her eyes shine even bluer than usual. A deep, rich, blue. Here lies the sadness. Out of her perfectly carved lips, words of sorrow are whispered into the night air. She pushes her soft palms into the sharp edged rocks, and though a thick red potion flows over them, she does not feel. She yearns to feel something other than sadness. Passing cars honk as they swiftly pass the broken girl in the road, though she wishes they would take her life as they go.
Beauty In Its Finest
April 28, 2009