The girl, she waits;
hair piled like snow on branches,
delicately perched,
everything about her fragile.
Her throne, rusty gold, scarlet red like blood that flows in her skin;
She is surrounded by filth, letters that were never delivered;
rotten jewels, sleeping nightmares.
A sea of blue eyes could encase her for all this worth;
nothing will help.
Chained with her own silver,
stoned by her own pearls,
beauty finally has its price.
And every day, her life is falling away,
passing through thin skinned arms,
veins, like rivers to oceans.
Life, an endless tale.
