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.

impractical daydreamer | journalist | creative writer | photographer | blogger | hopeless romantic | world nomad | truth seeker | perpetual adventurer

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