My Beautiful Dead Girl



















Haunted eyes

wrapped in misery.

You are already dead,

so why should you feel pain?


Pain is your purgatory

little girl, a grand gift

from scales that can never

be balanced in your favor.


Haunted eyes they may be,

but I see defiance, strength,

lingering deep, always

ready to rise to the surface.


Never did death look so beautiful

A perfection in form chiseled

from stone beaten up and torn

down by the elements.


You wear your cloak well,

dark and tear stained, wrapped

tight around a body that

still flies free.


You are my beautiful dead girl.

with cold hands clenching tight around

a warm heart

that beats just for you.

by Philip Wardlow

5 thoughts on “My Beautiful Dead Girl”

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