by Deborah Breuer
There was a warm glow about her.
Her ora was comfortably warm.
Her skin, delicate to the touch, was like milk.
And her bodes, incomparable to any haven taken shape before her,
Soft curves each having its own character.
Her eyes, too, were soft, but piercing.
Just one look, a gaze, a stare,
And you were addicted.
It hung like the scent of chamomile does after shed taken a bath in her porcelin tub.
Life was a walk in the park.
Day by day,
She lived in her world,
Unknowing of the many gifts she had to give.
Unknowing of the magic in her touch.
Not realizing all of who she was.
She began to fall,
To sink into the quicksand that was society.
She heard words,
Whore, Bitch, Slut
Mom in the corner crying
Dad tightening his belt.
Cutting off the life supply to many last hopes,
And he had pushed too far.
Neck broken at the end of a noose,
For the first moment to and for herself for a long, forever kind of time.
Viewing for the first time reality,
Posted on 07/30/2008
Copyright © 2020 Deborah Breuer