Sometimes she laughs. They don't understand why

ugly words throwing sharp/dull/rusty rocks at her clear-as-a-bell-glass balcony because she still believes in waiting till

and they don't care.

nine o'clock, tick-tock-tick-tock says the tightly locked clock, it's high noon and the waging war is waning while the sun is sticky-to-the-touch hot and the food is steam-faded-away cold on the knock-on-wood table

She laughs anyway, all tinkling-bells-in-the-wind bright and feathers-drifting-in-the-air lost as she waits for the broken spirit house to empty.


Sometimes she smiles. They don't realize why and

raised eyebrows and twisted lips, eyes red/red/red with something-like-hate covering up so-true-true blue and if there isn't a reason to then there isn't a reason to n't

they don't care.

plastic-aluminum-foil peeled orange slice smiles can't compare to the soft violin counter melodies drowned by the high flutes of their opinions, twisting the knob right, left, right as their sound is going up-down-up, their lies black/grey/cloudy on her beautiful day

She smiles anyway, all light, light eyes lit by a dark, dark moon and blonde hair tangled up in butterbeer caps blowing through the painted over tunnel walls.


Sometimes she stares. They don't understand why and

sharp lances through and out and over lost what-was-it-then, the power in curses lies with far more than their words but a bird breaks the same whether in a cage or a cardboard box so they sing so long and so clean all the neighbors can hear

they don't care.

years ago/before/so-far-gone-she-shouldn't-recognize-but-does she remembers invitations and crime darkened rooms and they've already fallen so far apart how can they hope to keep her together

She stares anyway, all wide eyed daylight-in-hate trapped without the moon's light and dancing shadows speaking of what's already lost.


Sometimes she stutters. They don't realize why and

bright lights-possibilities-magic floating up out of bad dreams, silver slippers and diamond rings and fairytales gone bad and none of them on her side

they don't care.

bursting oh-so-bad against much too young/little/unchallenged eyes, a rainbow-when-the-rain's-still-falling black and white and red/red/red for the very first time but she's looking in her eyes and she knows its the last

She stutters anyway, all much too old for her age and far too young for her mind because she never learnt to close her eyes.


Sometimes she cries. This, they think they know why and

soft cracks and slight snaps, thin/thin/thin legs sliding in much-too-big uniforms, too big smiles and too small eyes with too many I-promise-you's and they're all ever so glad that she's never been good at telling the non from the fiction

they don't care.

too much little for so blank a girl, in her head and in her thoughts and in everywhere she sees them and she can't stop please-please-please make them all just stop/go-away/I'll-tell and let her be normal, but she can't even get her dreams to dream to her so what does she think she's trying to do/her/go-away-I'll-tell

She cries anyway, all sea-salt ice cream drying on swollen cheeks and a little gingerbread box locked up tight with spicy red chains, because it's only the fairytales she wants to believe.