Her high-pitched scream reaches my ears,
And every bone in my body shivers
She made a home inside my head
So I’ll write her every whisper
Her black lipstick matches the color of her heart
Like the effervescent still waters
Stitches in her skin are like art
And the scars were finishing touches
She eats makeup just to stay skinny
And puts laxatives in her face
She’ll pull the trigger anytime
But she’d rather just sit and wait
The tips of her nails, she bites and chews
But she barely touches her food
She has friends in her front
But none on her rear, just knives already glued
Wrapped around her neck the constricts of society,
and a weight left on her shoulder
For every dream she had, and every man who broke her heart
a bruise left as reminder
Tongues like daggers everywhere
and eyes like laser beams
She can’t go out without an armor
A figure to talk to and a box to dwell
is all she really clamors
-The DementED
Cheers to all the ladies going through the woes brought about by society. You’re beautiful. Please live on. 🙂
You might also wanna check out: The Voices Inside My Head – Why I Write
or related poems: A Date with the Dead, Hopeless, Not Romantic
Of Minds & Music 