This pale skin like porcelain,
A fragile shell to comfort in,
The moonlit masking of the pain
That hides behind this smile.

This is the shedding of the tears,
That dribbled down a silent pen.
This is the sharing of the fears
That fed from bottle into babe.

And as you listen to my voice,
I wonder if you really can hear
The wounds of this fragile heart
Or whether in fact,
These words fall apart
With the impact of hitting the page.

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