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…