as thorns of black crave down her face like shattered and faded china

her spiraling white locks pour down her face like a frozen train wreck

in a constant state of depression waiting for her spring to come back

the carved out tears looks as if your spilling an endless abundance

waiting for the pale sun instead her neck is sanded away with sugar

almost like waiting in a wheat field while your legs are decked

the slow erasure of each broken piece so clean up the slack

shes always been broken that’s how she was sculpted and hence

she’s a failed painting pale and boring and nothing of value or villa

she only has a future of being tossed away in a dark empty keg

and waiting for someone to come that cares is insane and quack

like staring into the fog at the end of the cliff it’s not your pretense

shes only adding to it waiting for someone to view her Is very extra

being sculpted in a world where it’s too dry for art like her neck

as her necklace jewels crumble off on the floor like a coal sack

scattering everywhere and looking at her is like an act of abettance

as the skulls that lay on her eyes cry that they wish she was thinner

with the black that seeps into their teeth making them look wryneck

the thorns almost piercing more then her face as the shadows brag through the dips in all of the destruction caused it’s only consequence