her heart was decorated
by a pearled ribcage and satin skin,
and though it worked while heavily weighted,
there was still nothing lying within.
it wasn’t love that had a place in her heart,
it was her cravings,
tendencies that ripped her apart
and long ago, took the blade to her soul and began carving.
layer by layer, shaving,
little by little, hallowing.
until there was no love to be made,
nor none to be had,
and she became accustom to putting on the facade
that she was nothing short of glad.
she lived with the emptiness
because she knew no other way,
and she learned to love the loneliness
that came after they had had their way
and left her after they had said all they had to say.
