A porcelain face, eyes blazing with energy
She kneads the claw marks on her back
(she’s gracefully irresistible)
Her mind is a labyrinth of mystery,
When she looks in the mirror she does not see herself.
Her blonde hair shuffles in a crystalline breeze
She has lived with this long enough
Every night it’s been the same
The clamor more horrendous, the murmurs louder
Whispers whisking across her face as she tries to sleep
The angel girl is an aura of perfection
“She’s mad at me,” she repeats
“Because I won’t do what she says.”
The creaking doesn’t startle her, nor does the chilling presence
The one that sits at the end of her bed.