The porcelain is cold and hard;
A broken bone untimely cracked.
Her pearly skin is worn and scarred
And aging grimace smiling back.

A mottled tint on thin, peeled lips
Does flake to leave her white
As scratchings of her blood which drip
As fragments 'neath the light.

The knife-like slits which eyes conceal
Embedded in their glassy orbs
Oceanic globes of listless zeal
Breathe shadows through the lifeless corpse.

Encased behind a knitted brow
The pitless chasms' glaring haunt
And stricken brush-strokes which endow
An empty face with features gaunt.