Her once pure face now makes the canvas,
your words become the paint that drowns her.
The soft clay body begs to be sculpted.
Your violence answers as it shapes her into an infant.
you threw rocks into that perfect illusion she wanted to be hers,
Shattering stained glass windows she built with pieces of hope.
Empty eyes have forgotten how to cry,
as if doves have forgotten how to fly.
those bruises wont take long to fade.
They're soft as the charcoal you've bathed your hands in.
Pastel colored dreams sink in her empty eyes.
[This darkroom doesn't make color prints]
Her regrets are typing too loud in her head,
she doesn't hear you coming, until she tastes the paint.
Counterfeit apologies escape eraser-like lips,
Colliding into her distorted image as she feels like nothing.
Appears to be there, but she's already gone.
Turning to stone, while you glaze her with fear.
Numb from the perpetual sculpting...
...painted over too relentlessly to breathe.
"Frame me... put me away..." she fantasizes.


She'll never be beautiful.
She puts herself in the oven,
finally being made
permanant.