Cut her open and you'd find a graveyard
of memories in her mind. She's a living
tomb; she's a mausoleum of unspoken
hellos and goodbyes said too soon.
There is poison in her veins; wings
on her back that act more like chains.
She wasn't born with them; she's learned
how to cope, how to hide, how to use
these gifts that were meant to condem.
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