Hollow cheeks,
Sunken eyes,
She stands in front of the mirror broken inside,
Shattered glass and built up walls
Dying from the pain within,
She looks for perfection,
But only sees her flaws
Tattooed teardrops and empty bottles,
After the high comes the fall
She's just a child,
And yet somehow,
All roads lead her back,
To the broken image in front of the glass,
A reminder of an imperfect art.
- A.A
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Poetry||Poetry|| I built my own Paris, Just to watch it crumble down And yet I tried again, Mind fixated on a fantasy That spoke of wings and fairy tales #164 ranking in poetry 9/1/2021 #149 ranking in poetry 9/2/2021 #72 ranking in poetry 9/4/2021 #55 ra...
