It was written in the stars.
It was written in her scars.
In her palms where she wept.
In her bed where she slept.
Or hardly slept at all.
What a doll.
With her skin made of plastic.
Her tears made of acid.
She could not hide the tragic damage of sadness that burned through her pores and straight to her core.
Where she learned to keep quiet and not cry anymore.
