Paper Mache'

Thorned and destructive,

Like a rose beginning to bloom,

She is the embodiment of

Pure self-loathing;

The girl everyone knows,

But never suspects.

Snow blankets her,

Freezing time, destroying her,

But preserving all of

The important bits;

A girl made of ice,

Too cold to move on.

Lovely crimson ribbons flow

Down by veins, tainting the

Purity of the white snow,

Damaging the paper mache' mask

She worked so damn hard on.

Cracking; severing the facade

To reveal a truth,

A hidden mystery she tried to keep;

The portrait of a girl,

Damaged, but far from weak.