A deep affection for more

The woman sings:
“Don’t leave your little girl in the wild, the sky is turning black”
Of loves torture and trauma in an elliptical South
Of pale skin exposed to a hellish son
Once her heart was signed in blood ink across a dotted line
It hurt
And it stunned a permanent mark upon her face
And so she hoarded comforting words
Of lingering beauty and deep pools for eyes
Rations to nurture poorly a malnourished
and abused vanity
Her fingers found themselves
Grasping at tiny things
And disheveling all around her what she thought was neat
To tidy it back up again might tip up her chin
A story heard:
A cobbler fixed a question mark heel to an aristocratic boot so that the Man in question, could walk above other Men’s waste

She prays night and day for the perfect pair of Devil’s red stilettos