behind a mona lisa smile

you were glitter on the desecrated earth

that originated from dusty stars

which st-sta-stammered before collapsing to the ground

where broken bottles of vodka

lay near your grandmother’s grave.

you were always a pretty thing with a lollipop-hued mouth

and babushka doll eyes but as you hid behind

your mona lisa smile, nobody knew that you prayed the rosary

every time you wake up from a nightmare

and signed your name upside down on your diary

and wished on windblown dandelions

while smoking your step brother’s cigarette

that you managed to steal from his bathroom cabinet.

you kept your dad’s pistol hidden underneath

your pillow (empty except with only one bullet)

and played russian roulette with your reflection

on the mirror every night.

you were only fourteen when winter taught you

how to love and you gave up your dreams

to a boy that was eight years older

and as you began to realize your mistake,

it was already too late.