She is too much; too pretty, too perfect, too red. She is all of these and none of these. Broken to the core, fragments of a soul; she is razor edged words, an alcohol soaked haze, a long smoky exhale. The surface, a vision, a guise, a multilayered ruse.
Look but don’t touch. Touch but don’t feel. A paradox of woman she is.
As common as the filth that lines the alleys she haunts. Every story’s been told, hers another sad cliche.
She lives the lie she tells herself. The salve for her wounds another coat of tears.
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The LitFic Review
PoetryA collaborative showcase of literary writers on Wattpad. The inaugural edition of The LitFic Review is poetry themed, in honor of NaPoWriMo. (But that doesn't mean it's just poetry. Oh no, not at all.) If you discover a writer you love here, click...
