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Thorns MAG
May 28, 2008
She holds a fragile ball,
Pure crystal,
In the delicate design of
Her interlocked fingers.
The light reflects and refracts
Into bursts of living color,
Blending to make rainbows.
But her spiderweb of fingers
Breaks, accidentally,
As all things do,
And so does the crystal;
The broken pieces poking,
Like thorns,
Causing lipstick red
To bleed from every
Surface with a heartbeat
They touch.
© Anonymous
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