Trigger Warning: ED!
Poised little butterfly, sat across the room.
Her ribs stick out like wings, each bone as precious as china plates, the skin suffocating between her bones, creating her perfection. Heroin chic, they call it.
The purple shade to her elegant wings tell a story of how she came to be free, to be lighter than the thin sheets of fabric that hung off her pointed hips and sharp shoulder blades.
Her collarbone looks as if it has been precisely carved by a carpenter, her skin chipping like splints of wood.
She is a small figurine, her touch colder than a midnight's breeze in the Sahara, and her skin yellowed with an insufficiency of blood, because why would this butterfly need blood? She tells herself that a creature of such beauty to have this necessity is a self taught lie, and the wants become superior.
Superiority becomes an idol and she's a slave, walking into an abyss.
© Sincerely, ♡ - November 2022
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My Guts Create A Tapestry - Poetry
PoetryThis poetry is strictly copyright, it's all written by me. These poems tend to be written sweetly so you could be reading the most gorey poem and it'd be like it's romantacised. I don't try to romantacise them, it's the way I write. You'll possibly...
