The China Doll Is Broken

Voluptuous lips that have never been kissed.
Eyes closed softly in a never-ending embrace of serenity.
Broken, stuttering whispers that play with her ears.
The last perfumes of the stale roses gently tickle her nose.
His last words to her, like a broken record, play over and over in her mind.
The thought of being used, devoured, controlled, repeats itself quietly.
Roots of melancholy disgrace bury themselves in her heart.
The perfect china doll of a girl is finally shattering.

These last thoughts of the porcelain figure are suffocated by the dead roses he placed in her mind,
growing and encompassing, until every scrap of her is gone.