She dances with her back against the
wall; ill fitting clothing providing the only
barrier between the peeling paint and her
flaking skin.
The ballroom lights surround her in misty
glows; not unlike the smoky vapours that
billow out of the cigarette held between her
crooked teeth.
Her eyes the colour of lush rainforests,
Her cherry red lips turned into a permanent
smirk hinting that she knew the capabilities of
her imperfect charm,
and in that instant her imperfect charm
became completely perfect to me.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Mentally Insane
PoetryPoetry is the writing of our deepest, darkest, most inner thoughts. When speaking isn't enough and your voice falls upon deaf ears, writing is our only refuge. Join me and experience the workings of my mind in my collection of original poems. (Credi...
