glass shards in the guise of bones

Stiletto heels on the edge
my back leaning against the metal bars
spit stained concrete staring up
from far below

Dead mannequin eyes gaze out
from the skeleton reflected windows
a pretentious kiss grazing my soul
willing me to jump

Iíve become what I cannot be
a wilting flower in a vodka vase
filled with tepid sugar water
waiting to die a slow death

Decaying sinews hold my bones together
an embossed sculpture of flesh
the shards of myself pressing outwards
trying to become one with the stagnant atmosphere
where words are meaningless
and love is death in any language
my tongue can twist it

mÍme les anges tombent, mon amour
et nous ne sommes pas des anges

So let me jump and shatter like glass
upon the fragmented pavement
a martyr to the beauty disease
which tempts me to angeldom
while it sings me to death

© Indie Adams 2012
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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