She's dazzling.
Like the diamonds
that rest around her neck.
She's stunning.
Like a red dress
on a chilly autumn evening.
She's sublime.
Like the morning dew
glistening on blades of grass.
She's haunted.
Like the victims
living in houses full
of nightmares.
She's torn.
Like love-letters that
had no meaning.
She's cracked.
Like a porcelain doll
that was used too much.
She's a bitter-sweet lie
that no one knew
wasn't the truth
desultori*