The Eyes of a Coffin

Angelica is her name, according to the cold, hard stone above. Her face suits the name, so pale and innocent, delicately painted with a faux shade of life. Her eyelashes stiffly coated in midnight black mascara-- waterproof, in case my hard exterior should give way and gofers get a gander at her. Her lips so plush in the seal of a timeless tint, never to be parted. Her made-up beauty daintily framed by wisps of caramel brown strands, strategically set in spray. Below her forever flower flavored neck, her body lay adorned in a powder blue dress, elegantly trimmed in ruffles. The hem of ruffles ends below her knees, pointing to the elevated cream pumps that will never be worn thin. The decor of her body is topped by crossed porcelain hands. Her angelic loveliness eternally wrapped in my embrace.