a cherry drifting in borrowed light,
the band-aids wrapped around her grin.
she's frail as glass but built to fight,
her soft skin hiding spikes within.
sugar blush and spoiled glow,
mascara bleeding truth at night,
everyone wants what she shows,
nobody stays to hold her tight.
silver bites her lower lip,
angel fangs that dare you close,
the halo cracked - but holding grip,
a pretty threat in careful pose.
she laughs out loud, she starves the room,
a shrine of mirrors, pills, and smoke,
her perfumes sweet like early bloom,
but breath of ash when silence broke.
she learned quite young how pain behaves,
and how to flirt with feeling numb,
kept dancing on her private graves,
and waiting for the crash to come.
if love's a fire, then she's the spark,
a blossom glowing in the dark,
a magic burn against the cold,
that's almost too delicate to hold.