By Monique Avard
Sitting on a shelf
Legs dangling off the side
Sand pouring
O
U
T
from a hole in the sole.
Empty.
Just a fragile shell,
Just porcelain.
Dry.
Thin strands of hair splitting.
Paint flaking
O
F
F
from a ghostly complexion.
Lonely.
Just a brittle exterior,
Just porcelain.
Just porcelain
A touch tips it.
Its delicate balance broken,
It shatters upon the ground.
Just pieces.
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