A broken beautiful. Something more fragile than the bones that sew together the bodies in which we live. More fragile than the laced threads intertwined to shape the faces of the bodies who contort our thoughts. More weak than the words these bodies use to alter our minds into insignificant tendrils of sanity.
Her hopes are less than the number of hearts left in the bodies of her tormenters who haven't a soul to care to find it. Her hazel eyes are filled with grey flecks symbolic of days where pieces of herself lay in piles at her shoes.
She's broken, yes, and she is not fixable. But isn't she beautiful?
Beautiful like cracked glass that shatters at the contact with your trembling fingertips. A silent scream, an unheard cry, a spirit dwindling in faith. Simply, a Beautiful Disaster.
