she turned to porcelain skin and knotted veins
blood spilling from still lips, staining her bone white flesh in aching crimson
her tears turned to gloss before hollow eyes
and she pleaded for a single, resounding beat from a shattered glass heart
but even that had lost its thrum
her words spilled from a sunken chest as it became stone
spilling until they were gone
leaving only an empty girl behind
every treasure beneath her skin
stolen
and lost
sometimes you may not feel alive, but you still have the thrum of life beneath your flesh. you aren't stiff porcelain or empty chests. you are glowing golden, made of wonders and fairy dust. and even when you're so tired you can hardly stand, so lost you can hardly remember your name, your treasures are still there. and you are loved. you will be okay darlings. but it's okay that you aren't right now.
YOU ARE READING
lovely | poetry
PoetrySometimes my voice dies in my throat, buries itself beneath waves of crippling suffocation, burns itself out as cold hands tear at my laced skin. I have smiled while my eyes have cried and pleaded, my wrists numb, my lips wobbling and blue, and star...
