Her skin isn’t scarred, but her soul is ripped and tattered
Her flesh may be clean, but her heart is bloodied and battered
Words do more damage than an iron sword
Removing flesh from bone and chopping heads whole
He lit a fire made from malice and deceit
And sparked the flint beneath her innocent feet
Watched as she writhed, porcelain flesh alight
Cackling as she turned into a mere shadow of the night
With his tongue and his hissing, he burned her alive
Smeared dirt on her pretty face and tore out her eyes
Better to die with your dignity than perfect skin
For perfection will eventually reflect the demons within

*-lf-