Not What All The Magazines Call Pretty

by Holly H Dunne

She gazes at the world through misty blue teardrops
Each tale of woe licking a new silver sliver on her cheek
Her long ebony hair dances
In the whispers of fear from angel's breath
Her heart, too large for her tiny breast
Has been broken and almost healed too many times
Her bones occasionally rise to the surface
As the hunger devours her
Her bony arms hug the world
Etched and dripping with rose red passion
Her insides ache with pain old and new
Laced forever with the residue of too many swallowed pills.


Posted on 03/19/2002
Copyright © 2024 Holly H Dunne

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