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278 · Nov 9
The Runaway Bride
Lucia Nov 9
As she glides down the aisle, shadows of her past converge,
Memories of anguish and sorrow's relentless surge.
The weight of isolation, the ache of emptiness,
Would soon dissolve, replaced by love's gentle caress.

Tears and pain, once constants, would become a distant past,
A fleeting memory, eclipsed by love that would last.
In his arms, she'd find solace, a haven from her fears,
A gentle soul to listen, to wipe away her tears.

Yet, instead of serenity, panic seized her heart,
A dread of surrendering to love's redeeming start.
She clung to the familiar pangs of sorrow and strife,
Afraid to release the joy that threatened her fragile life.

Like whispers of a summer breeze, her smiles had always fled,
Leaving her with echoes of a long-forgotten thread.
But now, with love's promise, her heart should have soared,
Not trembled with the ghosts of love she'd never explored.

Instead of embracing liberation, she fled the altar's might,
Her footsteps echoing his cries, a haunting, desperate plight.
While I'm only thirteen, I put myself in the mind of a young tortured bride.
Lucia Nov 8
THE DOLL OF POCELAIN SKIN:

There once was a doll of porcelain skin
Born in a world of malicious intent
Fair, graceful and kind she was to her kin
Yet cruel pain was all she got in extent

Though as righteous as she seemed she was not
For scars lay under her porcelain skin
Yes, deep ugly scars of torture and rot
That tainted her smiles in angst and sin

The ache was so bad she let the mask slip
and let them see the face that lied within
The hideous visage that was bound to tip
The truth that would break her porcelain skin

They called her vicious and asked why she changed
When the facade was all she disaranged
Feel free to give your opinion!

— The End —