Violet

Under sea-green eyes are carved black hollows.
In some petrifying morbid way, they are captivating and eerily breathtaking.

Those onyx half moons are possessed by an anemic gorgeous little doll.
She has refused rest for the night's entirety, and now the moon has been eaten by her lover, the sun.

Ten fragile fingers bear her countings of the world's shameful problems.
They wane heavy, until they fall to the floor with ten flicks of a knife.

She used to draw the perfect eyes of those she loved.
Whether blinded, delighted, glass, or wooden.

But no longer can she let irises know of her love.
Her fingers are gone.

But the earth's pain still weights.