Tragedies and malice
Are not all that’s found
Of sick minds and broken souls
That have no sound
Knights in shining armor have come to ****
Parade on flower eyes, so that I feel ill
I’m not the hero holding the sword
What really is the story
Perhaps I’m a villainess
That’s not even scary
So hang me up to dry
And ring me out
Because I’ll die once veils lift of my happy lie
One tragic ghost walking about

I write this anonymously, to a me I don’t know

I hide under porcelain, for the me inside

The seed I never let them see

If I touch from under the clay would they still love me

If I crack the perfect porcelain I have made,

would they Just runway

I wish for the day that they can see, and just be

The hollow is free

Camellia dies quietly, with no one knowing

How can I speak

When no one looks at what is really showing

Porcelain so perfect and fine

But broken, left to die