As tears stream down her face, her makeup runs,
Her face becomes but an awful painting,
Portraits can be decieving
Yet none mistake the painted cracks
nor the stains of tears past,
The past holds her in unstated oblivion
as her thoughts protrude to death
Rejected yet desired: they sway in the breeeze
Her hell is a room where she once sang girlhood
Songs of innocence are bleeding through her thoughts
The prancing ballerinas absorb the light
painting the darkness with greater limpidity
Her temples pounding to a sudden relief
but demolished by her lustful desires
Uncontrolled urges corrode her taintlessness
Her purity ablaze with new yearnings
her life before her but a quilt of memories
Each patchwork burning with arounsed healing
Sensuality heals to the certian barrier
the bioling point of her own actuality
falsely wearing her claim
her heart is falling apart
The revolver drips with her own cold sweat
she pulls the trigger with eyes closed tightly
When the world is still unshattered: her blessing are counted
her light tangiable returns from where it hence came
