Her Fire
The storms she weathered,
Became lines on her face.
The bruises from her past,
Turned her tongue sharp.
Yet beneath the cold shell,
Still crackled the flames,
That lit her heart bright,
And longed to warm another.
© Artisancta
Became lines on her face.
The bruises from her past,
Turned her tongue sharp.
Yet beneath the cold shell,
Still crackled the flames,
That lit her heart bright,
And longed to warm another.
© Artisancta
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