Diane

she walks with her own passive stride

her sunglasses reflect the madness in her

she carries comfort in her left pocket

every now and then her fingers run against it's smooth surface

she wears and old work shirt

duct tape adorns it with "my name is Ash"

�

the black choker around her neck

carries an old key

as ink stains her hands like blood

she is a documented slave

�

she wants to love and be loved

but sometimes other things get in the way

she's a perfectionist

never can please her mom

and her dad's dying

it's the little things that make her breakdown

stress shares her bed

�

open windows in her car always

freedom flows through her hair

her lip gloss is an extension of her personality

construction boots press the petal

with sunsets on warm summer evenings

�

in her wallet is a picture of death

she'll always believe in faeries

as vanilla soaks her skin

rose petals make ripples in bath water

a fallen angel in disguise