She told me long ago that her heart was made of glass,
blown from the finest of sand and sprinkled with stardust.
She was a beautiful creature born of the fairest of folk
and her words hung in the air, like sweet lavender anytime she spoke.
Magic was her kingdom, sweet music and wine,
yet she started to decay with just a matter of time.
Her hair started to molt from her scalp to her feet.
An essence so tainted it was sickly sweet.
Skin that grew cracks all layered with dust
and her bones, they started to rust.
Teeth that grew mold and started to rot
I thought she'd be beautiful what a knot in my plot.
Her fingers started to bend until they snapped and they broke,
her lavender laugh so clipped from such a desperate joke.