& the feeble piece of chalk that remains in her hand
( how desperate for survival it must be )
flicks from delicate fingers to land squarely on
her student. & feigned innocence is worn
calmly upon compassion’s bearing
( apathy claws at her mask )
❛ ————— class is done, stiles. ❜
❛ we could build treehouses.
——— live like bloody ewoks. ❜
she is frayed nerves
( compassion is oft misused as armour )
& beyond that lies corrupt flesh & bone.
such a curiously cynical creature is sure to claw
through her skin as she crumbles.
skin made of gentle parchment is not
constructed to mask iron bones.
❛ lovely. my thoughts exactly. ❜
❛ any particular reason for the get-up? ❜
i have so many things to do but frick it
like this for a starter so i can take my
mind off the walking dead.
❛ i can’t do it. ❜
& as a light heart tugs in elation.
she can’t quite remember
when a drink had meant shots.
& precarious fingers sweep butter-y blonde hair
from a damp forehead ( judith grimes remains a purity )
a ripped organ bubbles a sigh of defeat & yet a
soft hum continues to slip past cracked lips
( a sentimental tug toward her mother’s lullabies )
wolves snarl a vicious warning
( a breath across her cheek )
now now, little oswald, perhaps vexations
should remain shouldered.
❛ ———- i don’t think she’ll sleep a wink tonight. ❜