And sculpted cheeks, so, so pale.
Her face is polished, her hair is glossed.
What was her name? What is her tale?
A bleak, blue gaze, blank and lost,
Stares straight ahead, cold as hail.
Now she lives a living death,
No one to hear her frozen call,
Doomed to never again draw breath,
Her frozen tears will never fall.
(c) Lishesque
Wednesday 12 June 2002