The Burns of Vanity Lost

She picks at the scabs on her hands, what remained of her burns.
She sits in silence,seeing no beauty in the scars littering her face.
Of herself she found not a trace.

She yells from her darkened soul,
At Gods she no longer believes in,
For how can a God be so cruel?
How could God be such a stubborn mule?

A week ago the life she knew was severed,
Bits and pieces of what happened are all she can remember.
Him dressed in black...set fire...with a match...

The fire it had rose and grew, as she slept to keep her beauty intact.
She awoke as her skin had begun to burn. A man in yellow rubber robes, stood over her, water buckets a pour,
The water on her burning flesh had only hurt her more.

When he lifted her from the bed, Dizzy she became, lightheaded as her world went black from pain.

A White room, coming to, steal walls
Wrapped in the likes of white paper towels, as if covering up the damage some how made it invisible.
A face once perfection, burned ugly.

She spent each day in this place,
Feeling along the scars on her face.
Screaming, yelling at Gods she no longer preached, Gods that she would never again see.

Vain was she to believe that outer beauty would always last,
Nothing attractive when it did pass.