Madeline Star

A girl of made of ash and dust

a head full of copper hair

strutted down the crooked street

Her life was never fair.

Fragile as a quail

face as pale as sour milk

her fingers are quite narrow

but her hair is made of silk.

Her light eyes could give you whiplash

and her jaw was jagged sharp

but never ask her name

for receiving a voice sweet as a harp

Yellow teeth bared

pressing on flaky lips

hands contorted into fists

and asymmetrical hips

Oh, my dear Madeline

has only darkness disguised as light

twinkle twinkle little star

the first to shine so bright.

Your name is quite appropriate

my fierce wolf behind old bars

for someone whose end

isn’t really quite that far.

So persevere, my darling

you don’t have much to fear

it is quite past the time-

in fact, your time is almost here.

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