stained porcelain... (it felt like a poetic day)

tears of glitter fall

slowly, softly, swiftly

lines of black are laid, atop the porcelain 

door slams- broken hearts

stomping feet- broken dreams

lines of black run harder, atop the porcelain

silhouettes of grey not black

become but not a blur

only our kind god will know

that speech I chose to slur

missed connections 

fair skin smooth

ever changing-fast

only sleeping beauty sees

our future and our past

tears of desperation call

hard, cold, bitter

lines of black turn frozen, it’s the dead of winter.