a story, a poem

The pretty little girl,
with her filthy knee socks.
They used to be white.

In the prettiest dress,
black as her heart.
She's such a delite.

Her golden pony tail,
like the lighting and the sun.
What magic, what a sight.

The pretty little girl,
such a pretty, souless smile.
Looks like she's been in a fight.


Her scars, bruises and open wounds,
could she even be alive?
sure thing honey, her bones are like anthracite

But her thin skin of milk white silk,
oh so fragile and breakable,
one touch and it vanishes into the night.




Poetry by baby Blue
Read 687 times
Written on 2010-07-04 at 17:57

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