Glasgow Grin
Pealing bells infuse the air
erupting gales of laughter.
A figure stirs with haunting grace
shadows trailing after.
The crimson blush of twisted lips,
painted in a grin,
Denies the beauty of her face,
hiding angles sin.
A poor and little broken doll
of jagged, shattered pieces.
Torn asunder long ago,
her sputtering flame ceases.
Drifting through dark endless days,
longing to expire.
A splash of color draws her gaze,
Only to inspire.
Casting off the binding chains.
Ending of the strife.
Pleasure lives in cruel, scarred lips:
The edge of a knife.