The way she danced was like a water lily upon tainted liquid.
Her skin a tanned ivory,
as she spin's the scars of a broken past reveal,
but they do not seem to ruin the immaculate image of this delicate​ orchid.
Her movements are that of the soft sea breeze,
that soft sea breeze seems foreign to those who's mind speak judgement.

Her eyes are glimmering sapphires embedded into her skull.
I could stare at her all day but that action means playing a dangerous game.
For you cannot look into her eyes for too long,
She will capture your​ heart effortlessly and fail to return it.

Her freckles​ paint a symphony across her slender figure,
Her beauty marks glide and spin across her skin,

One on her jawline.

One just above her right breast.

One on her carefully crafted hip.

She dares to dance like a soft angel.
A pastel yellow in a sea of crimson red.
You make the world light up little tiny dancer,
so please my delicate little orchid,
dance the night away.

Who are you and where do you come from?
Your face is not familiar to us,
Nor is ours familiar to you.

You ponder around these streets in wonder,
As if that guy in the sky with the debatable existance created a world of some sort,
A new world.

Your skin is tanned and your eyes are brown,
Not like ours.
We're not the same.
Our skin is pale and heavenly and our eyes are an icy blue.

Your choice of clothing is foreign,
Your shirt isnt cut in half nor are your jeans,
Your stomach and legs are hidden unlike ours.

I dont know where you come from.
So tell me,
Who  are  you.

"where did it go?"
one half said,
"it ran away with the fairies"
the other spoke.
I giggled at the two,
for the halves are my brain, aren't you like this too?
The voices swimming ever since I was five,
they are the very reason why I feel so alive.
They're coated in black,
their eyes a thick red,
I don't know where they came from but they're living in my head.

"Arabella my dear. why so sad"
its not my fault,
Its the voices dad.
They beat me and hurt me,
tear me into two,
tell me all the good things about dying too.

I love my little voices but wouldn't it be great,
if one day I woke up to find that they had gone?

But they have returned after a month and boy aren't they glad,
for they love to see me,
to see me sad.