There’s this girl, alive, mad and a masochist, all rolled into one. Her eyes are amber, brooding, and her scars, they run a bit too deep.
I’ve looked just enough to burn and frey at the seams
There’s another girl, pale skin, gold and cedar haired , with topaz eyes that remind me of summer sunrises. She is the living example of how an ideal person should balance life. But the other day I saw parallel cuts across her arm and wondered if anyone had it easy at all.
There’s this other girl, so different for everyone else, she is like the night sky when it is dipped in clouds, veins and tendrils of grey and ivory threating to overcome the sky; she is the moon that preserves beauty when at midnight the world looks like an unending slate of obsidian but she is also the thunder that cleaves the world apart. I wonder when she’ll learn of her own power.