A deep affection for more

The woman sings:    
“Don’t leave your little girl in the wild, the sky is turning black”  
Of loves torture and trauma in an elliptical South    
Of pale skin exposed to a hellish Son  
 
Once her heart was signed in blood ink across a dotted line    
It hurt    
And it stunned a permanent mark upon her face    

And so she hoarded comforting words    
Of lingering beauty and deep pools for eyes    
Rations to nurture poorly  
a malnourished    
and abused vanity  
A hardening heart and hardened stone
   
Her fingers found themselves    
Grasping at tiny things    
And disheveling all around her    
what she thought was neat    
and accordingly so  
To tidy it back up again might tip up her chin
    
A story heard:    
A cobbler fixed a question mark heel to an aristocratic boot so that the Man in question, could walk above other Men’s waste    
   
She prays night and day for the perfect pair of Devil’s red stilettos