Written by m ennenbach

strained

her tears fell
like diamonds
to scatter
amongst the fallen leaves
of autumnal misery

her sorrow
made the angels weep
to commiserate
in the sullen pain
of strained perfection

it was as if every monet began to drip paint onto the marble floors of the museum

mona lisa covering her face while sobs fill the louvre, unable to contain the sadness

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