and they
write
stories of
troubled girls
from
troubled homes
but never
of those
who are encased
in glass
with woven
finery
those
who would rather
rip their flesh
from bone than
live within
their
picture
perfect
home.
YOU ARE READING
bones
Randomi wrote this when i thought love was the look in his eyes rather than mine.
the photographs lie
and they
write
stories of
troubled girls
from
troubled homes
but never
of those
who are encased
in glass
with woven
finery
those
who would rather
rip their flesh
from bone than
live within
their
picture
perfect
home.