more children are destroyed than the men destroying them

lovely lacerations around her throat, strangling the child she used to be. smoking her out, embers evaporating into her eyes, vanishing; vanquishing, the kid inside. laughter no longer plays against those lips; instead young men without names dance across her hips, and yet the smell of their aftershave gives them away. her pupils have taken over her eyes, illuminated by her scorched soul. nothing is the same. she no longer sees roses erupting from other's lives; she sees the daggers that lurk inside their sleeves, ready to crush any resemblance of her dreams.