They're brown.
Earth-colored, if you will.
With a slight tinge of green, if you hang around long enough.
But there's more.
There's history, of a tragic sort.
I doubt you'll stay around long enough,
To watch everything unravel.

6 letters.
I'm not some Nabokov beauty.
Well, technically, by age, yes.
I don't go for the older sort.
It was a term of endearment,
But now, it's pure rage.

5'3".
I have a tiny frame. Smaller than most.
I'm not intimidating.
You can pick me up, and throw me down.
(Though I'd prefer you wouldn't.)

32.
Battle wounds. They tell my story.
All over.
Wrists, forearms.
Thighs, hips, ankles.
It's too easy.

13 years.
13 years filled with pain and insanity.
Filled to the brim with memories.
Terrifying memories of watching *****-induced tirades.
They were so oblivious to my cold breath.