Porcelain Lies

Perfection is the disease of a Nation...

Skin of porcelain,

Beauty of roses, unmatched by even the most elegant of flowers.

Body of a goddess,

Sins enough to make a born-sinner cry.

Air of pure,

Toxicity only in the mind.

The rose buds blossom...

And yet the thorns are ignored.

Until... yet until...

You go to the flawless and there you see the flaw.

Bitten. By the thorns.

Blood.

The luminescent aura of innocence and purity is gone.

Blood.