Satin weaves glossed with half-opened lies fold over milky pores and rouge-glazed lips.
You speak the nebulous entity that her soft lotus-stained balled has to offer;
a breath of suffocation,
a steel crown soaked with liquid traditions.
The girl with blood as her prison,
with the cosmos as her theatres.
〝 TAINTED FACES ARE ONLY
PRETTY WHEN THEY REMAIN UNTOUCHED. 〞
YOU ARE READING
WICKED HEARTS
Poetry❝ WE ARE ALL THE BAD IN SOMEONE'S STORY. ❞ do not copy. all rights reserved ⓒ 𑁍 blue rose awards | first place in poetry & second place in unknown story
