Tears drip from the diamond she called her face,
Sweat sparkles on her cheek and tears cling to her chin.
The diamonds in her pores engrave a message that is a cry for help,
But nobody seems to care enough to really study her.
The diamonds melt from the heated tension in her mind and soul,
In disguise as tears.
She drowns in this puddle of blistering hot, melted, jewel,
Her hands grasping on whatever hope she may have left.
YOU ARE READING
Eunoia
PuisiBehind every poem is a story too afraid to be told bluntly. . . . I intend to write to make you feel.
