her screeches echo up to the sky
her tears are made of starlight
the summer rain never reaches her lips
she's never felt the sunlight
she will never feel the wind
or walk barefoot on grass
her eyes are made of candle wax
her heart is made of glass
she can only imagine the earth's delights
never see or feel or hear them
she sits inside a cabinet
and longs for long-lost freedom
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poesíai won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
