I want to jump in, swim in the river
That runs beneath your porcelain skin
I'll only come up for air
I promise, I'll fill your lungs
I'll be the medicine that you need
I want to pump through your veins
Like the drugs that you crave
I want to be there when
It all comes crashing down

Staring at the girl who used to be innocent and pure,
Now just a mannequin of hated nothingness.
Dressed in the color red, a representation of love,
Now representing only that of which she lost.
The tears running down a perfect porcelain face,
Smudged makeup smeared upon its appearance.

I am beginning to realize I was nothing more than a burden, a bother, a mirror reflection.
Mocking me as my world comes crashing down,
My heart now unknown and forgotten.
The perfect picture you painted me to be was not even me at all.
Dolling me up, and puppetting me around, to follow your every will and whim.
You pressed me into this mold of a person, you taught me who I should and shouldn’t be.
So now that you’re gone, which me, is me...?

She touched me
and it felt

as if

the stars
were dancing
across

my skin.

Look at her.
See her little cracks?
The ones that line her arms,
The ones on her back.
Her porcelain face,
With the saddest of eyes,
Where the missing pieces are,
She fills them as she cries.
The tears that fall,
She catches in a pail,
Putting them in her cracks,
Thinking she's failed.
One day a little porcelain boy found her,
Crying all alone,
Without any shelter,
So he picks up his phone,
And then he shatters himself.
As the pieces fall she crawls over to him,
He picks up his pieces and finds the ones to fill her cracks,
He aligns them all,
Each one filling her back.
But after he's finished,
She leaves him there,
With every little crack,
His body so bare.
He sits there alone,
Thinking about that little porcelain girl,
The one who he cared for,
The one who made his heart twirl.
One day she passes him,
In the same spot as where he healed her,
She gives him a small smile,
And then deters.
The little boy cries there,
All alone and silent,
Now knowing about,
How love can be so violent.

In pubs with bar flies.
Kronenburg, Becks, Carling, Stella Artois and Fosters,
Dancing in our blood,
Utterly inured; we are endured by all:
The solipsism most profound.

And when Johnnie, Jack and Jameson join,
The sentimental and the morbid
Are conjoined.

And ****!
In the custody of beer halls,
The shadows that draw, fade,
And calls – e’en Death’s! -- are put on hold!
No time; instead, before the last, another pint.

For in this hallowed inn,
Drinking what’s in the glass,
And espousing the glow within,
Cares regress.

No woes,
Or loaded psyches,
For when the pressure builds,
The best: a jet of yellow bliss,
Relieves the pain,
On Armitage Shanks' porcelain.

Porcelain skin- it was literally as fragile as a glass doll and when you smiled I was petrified you would shatter in my hands-
Long, dark black hair that you always wore a little too messy for your own good- it flowed around your shoulders-
Glancing to the right with secrets hidden in your eyes, you were always avoiding the camera-
Strawberry red lips and leafy green eyes - you're my favorite fruit-
Forbidden by society  but so tasteful in our secret garden-

"When did you stop smiling? I can't remember the last time you looked this sad" I said as she grabbed her coffee and walked back into the bedroom.. alone.

Glimpsed upon, hideous within the standing
others thoughts turned away.
For what was inside was perceived as inner
beauty, a collection of actions and feelings
portrayed within not the falsehood of exteriors

That which hung on the feature's deemed
those as shallow, unenduring a collection
of porcelain frailties  in compositor.  
Caring upon there grandeur and not the
reflections of others only gorging of
there own painting of perfection.

Repugnant of the stereotypes of before,
now those born of perfection frond upon.
Are we not on a merry go round of reflections.
Finding others of difference, not as we want
to perceive. Beauty is sometimes the curse of
those that wear it, for beauty is on the inside.