There she was standing so tall on her pile of pebbles. Ready to cast one at anything that drifts by. Hard as stone were her insides as she stood proud like a statue. Never let’s anybody see her move. But the longer she holds her ground the more mangled she becomes. She has vanity running through her veins. She flashes her flawless exterior but she’s worn by the weather rooting from her insides. She holds up her vacancy sign but wont let anybody in. Shes disfigured and tortured by the very world she so desperately mollifies. She knows shes beautiful somewhere but she keeps that part to herself. Sometimes I can see it in her eyes, that longing for something more than her shallow shell but those moments are short lived. She is a statue of humanity. She lives inside all of you.
A poem, or something of the sort.