Those eyes made of steel
were once full of holiness you were baptised in,
the bleakness within her veins would scream out
for the ones who dared say her name,
She was once a being with air that was untouched,
a gentle grip would mould into a mark of love.
She loved no more than herself,
but with eyes like fire and hair full of liars,
she would become one with what is left of a molten wire.
Skin that was as fair as freshly falling snow,
would quickly melt into a pile of vile dread,
Lips that resembled a rose would quickly die
into the sharp edges of a tongue that
only knew how to spit out words.
Her reflection grew colder with the passing days,
days that were full of rejection of herself.
The mirror no longer a companion but
a nightmare that wore white silk to tempt her longing stares.
Her look so wild she froze those around her to stone
with one flick of an eyelash that was barely holding on.
They whisper about self-love and
how it heals the rot within torn bones,
how it has the magic to cure an illness that
found a home within your soul.
But when faced with one’s love to themselves
they forget how to cherish it within veins
that were once screaming out for them to only love themselves.
She was ripped apart with a curse
that had sharp nails and teeth to match
because she knew her self-worth without the need of a man
whose voice only echoed within the needs of his own hollow bones.