Broken beauty.

People pass by her with gazes glowing intent, her pretty eyes are always searching the floor,
For something she can no longer say she is the owner of, her damaged vital core.

Black crescents lurk under her eyes, her sleep interrupted by torture at night,
Her porcelain face never touched by the devil, she tricks people into believing the truthful lie of a beautiful sight.

There's something keeping her alive, she's searching but the page isn't loading,
Her tattered wings keep her on the ground, but with the right touch they're fixed and she's floating.

Once in a while her eyes don't frown, and her lips turn into a curve,
With the slight possibility of finding the lost piece of the puzzle, she's filled with invisible breath and words.

She confides on paper composing a story, an object of lock and cover her only friend,
Finding out everybody she's ever known is plastic, they never have a hand to lend.

Scars resembling birthmarks, she creates her own pain when no one else will,
Being diagnosed with this infectious virus, certain diseases don't come with a pill.

Drawing blueprints not including a future, she hates the way she was made,
During her past she lived in a different world, but with each intensifying step it begins to fade.

Her parents speak lies about loving her, forcing her to experience death before life,
Not knowing that their daughter's an artist, her canvas being her skin and her paintbrush being a knife.

A broken beauty taking her last taste, of what she knew would eventually be the end,
Being poisoned by bitter words and permanent souvenirs, she's lost the power to defend.

Her gaze only sets on black, her arms crossed over her decaying heart,
Straight-faced masks with trails of heartache forming, the ending's always the saddest part.

Concealed in a darkening dungeon, daylight no longer possessing the ability to light up her pale face,
This was the other half she was looking for, after so many years she's finally found her rightful place.