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Feb 2015
Her soul is made of
scattered glass and broken spirits.
Her flesh is pockmarked
with bruises and cuts.
Her face radiates with
agony and despair.
Tears shine
like freshly polished crystals
Mouth frozen open.
Cannot move, cannot
reach the blessed silence.
Of which fragments of me
try fruitlessly to
Hide in, to give in to
cowardice.
2/23/14
Nikki Belle
Written by
Nikki Belle
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