She stands beneath a tree.
Chipped nail polish,
chipped skin
caresses rough felt.
Yellow cloth comes loose
from it's fastens,
falls to the ground.
Looks up to the sky
plastic ringlets bounce
on cold clay shoulders.
Eyes are hollow;
long streaked lashes
can't hide the distance.
Mouth sealed shut
secrets trapped within
pale pink lips.
Cracked cheeks
stained rouge
feigning young age.
Flowing skirts ripped
ruffled and wrinkled
blemished with opaque gems.
She moves not with grace
but jagged and wary
settles on the tiled floor.
Lays her porcelain head
on porcelain hands
and thinks with her porcelain mind.
Of all the porcelain people.
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