Sunday, October 16, 2016

Одиночество



She is all veins, hollow
shadow emptied of its blackness
flat, flacid worms wailing over 
scattered pieces of womb
waking up in their numbness

She is all past, shallow
willow outcast from the forest
mad, sad ruin crashed below 
flowers of crimson lipstick 
drying up on the stainglass

She is all skin, broken 
torn in pieces, tainted rotten canvas
scarring its pain were kisses once lived
porcelain dolls holding fingerless hands
eyeless, fractured weightless memories

She is all lies, ashes of ice
dressed up for a sinister ball
tarot cards without number, spread under
a legless girl, a heartless hug in flames
a gorgeous toy freezing itself in vain

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