She is like winter, her emotionless eyes pale blue
and her skin translucent,
the colour of a flower vase people tend to shatter carelessly
every so often.
Every line on her skin is weaved
into an intricate pattern of snowflakes,
held tightly together
not to protect her from the outside,
but to hold her insides together.
People do not understand that when cut open,
her sadness, sparkling like snow in the sun, tends to spill out.
Every once in a while, it chokes her.

Please
do not cut me open.
Do not break me just to fix me.
Because pieces will scatter to the ends of the universe
And you will leave me
Before I can find enough of myself to put back together.