Skin the shade of cream,
Tears of porcelain, so delicate.
The only magic she possesses
Is to conjur faded memories that
Will make her shatter from the sheer
Force of melancholy they possess.
Trapped in childhood joy that
She is convinced will break her
Like glass; just tragedy!
The sweet taste of merth and merry,
Thought long to elude her.
Unfortunate that she’s living in
The bottom of the bottle of her dreams.
The only comfort, to her knowledge, is
The slow evaporation of her sanity.