A picture perfect sight of imperfections,
Standing at the top of a burned down stair way,
A frayed book of infections.
When I was five,
Scary stories never bothered me,
I held sanity towards the drifting, restless nights,
I dared the closest's monsters to be free.
When I was seven,
Social fears never meant a thing,
I played a constant smile towards the crowd, the shadows, and to the wind,
I waited for judgment's ring.
When I was 10,
The soft, nervous heart beat always in me never showed,
I kept my sleeves to my fingers,
A recess dedicated to a single red rose.
The skies fall gray,
All alone,
The tears fall.
3 years later,
I'm terrified.
Victoria xX
YOU ARE READING
The Vigilante Of Clockwork
PuisiWhat have I ever had to say? Thank you all for reading. -Victoria xX
