She is a blurry outline in the glass
Ornamental bones strung together
To form a pretty, wind-chime girl
At least, the aim is to look pretty
To look nice and securely together
But really, the cords keeping her intact
Are fraying at the ends

They say she is pretty
Or at least, pretty enough to pass
Their little Freak test
Their goal is to keep her sane
Their goal is to keep her clean
The crazy part of her
Just doesn’t understand
How red rivers running down
Her porcelain frame
Equals ugly in Their eyes
Staring at her wind-chime self
The Depression part
Of her
Wants to carve ribbons of red
Into the bone canvas
And watch
As red paints
The shell
That the sane part of her
Abandoned long ago

Look at the perfect wind-chime
She is every person’s ideal
Swinging lightly in the breeze
Look as the perfect shell
Shatters,
Drops
Away,
Revealing
Crazy,
Red.